


Snakeskin

by SteeleStingray



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Attempted Kidnapping, Attempted Sexual Assault, Canon Typical Warnings, Character Death, Epic quest, M/M, Masturbation, Mentions of past abuse, Nicaise lives AU, Rimming, Sex, Sexual Frustration, So many snake references, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-21
Updated: 2017-10-05
Packaged: 2019-01-01 05:31:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 83,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12149643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SteeleStingray/pseuds/SteeleStingray
Summary: Prince Laurent of Vere is supposed to be dead. He was supposed to be betrayal, brutalized, and murdered by men hired by his own family. But instead, he is pressed against a broad, warm chest and promised that he’ll have an army to reclaim his crown if he journeys to Akielos and wins a competition there called ‘The Kallisti’.Crown Prince Damianos of Akielos is on a mission to prove his honor and courage through a contest. When he rescues someone claiming to be the Prince of Vere from being drugged and murdered, he finds his key to victory. Now all he has to do is bring everyone back to Ios without getting killed…Based on the French fairytale ‘Peau d’Ane’ and a classic Greek myth.





	1. Chapter 1 (Damianos)

**Author's Note:**

> GUYS I HAVE BEEN WORKING ON THIS FOR SO LONG!!!! Even while I was still writing 'Touch You', I was taking breaks to write chapters of this. I am so thrilled to share it with you guys and I hope you all enjoy it! I have had a great time doing the Big Bang, I've met so many cool people in the fandom through it, and it's got even better once I took over the event itself! Big shoutout to my fellow mods: Queen Mod Jinlinli, Clara(the glue that holds this fandom together), and Lileura my defender and mistake-fixer, I couldn't have done it without you!
> 
> Also want to thank my fantastic artist [cannedebonbon](cannedebonbon.tumblr.com) for drawing the most amazing art of this story and talking at length about our shared love of Taiwanese food, specifically the mangoes, which I still dream about! I had so much fun with you helping me! Same to my beta [theinternetbed](theinternetbed.tumblr.com) !
> 
> Anyways, getting to it, you all might assume from my username that I really love stingrays; and while they are cool, they don't even break top 5 favorite animals. Number 1 goes to my scaly baby snakes. I even have 2 tattooed on me (their names are 'Yo' and 'Zou' the Mandarin words for left and right) so you can see why I am going so heavy-handed on the snake imagery here haha! Welcome to 'Snakeskin'! It's based VERY loosely on a French fairytale and I will give you a snake fact each chapter that has something to do with the events of said chapter! So down below is the 1st snake fact and then you can start the chapter ;)
> 
> Enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Snakes actually do not hibernate in winter but just become less active until the heat makes them more active in an act called 'brumation'

** Snakeskin **

** Chapter 1 (Damianos) **

Damen's boots sank down deep into the snow with a satisfying crunch, and he felt the insidious wet cold begin to seep through the leathers and caress his toes. Though the weather was miserable whenever it managed to get through his layers of leathers and furs, he could never cease to be amazed by the white, icy beauty of the forests of Vere.

These hinterlands in the center of the country were currently beset with ankle-deep snow on the ground and in the wiry, bare branches of the trees. The lakes and rivers had frozen over with blue ice several inches thick, and Damen enjoyed exhaling to see his breath come out in sensuous white curls, like a fire-breathing dragon of legend. Damen could ignore the freezing temperatures in the face of such ethereal beauty.

His companions were disinclined to agree.

Nikandros sat astride his dappled horse, looking thoroughly miserable even with the lush gray wolf fur at his throat; never did a word of complaint slip past his teeth, but his trembling hands and chattering teeth more than gave away his discomfort. Pallas and Lydos were sweet and accommodating, only moving in place to heat themselves up. Aktis was the only one who had the heat left to complain, which he did jokingly, if frequently. Not a single place in Akielos could boast snow, and the group's collective dark skin belied their usually balmy lifestyles.

Damen scooped up one more handful of freezing cold water from the unfrozen stream, feeling his stomach ice over. If he was not in such a hurry, he might have basked in this snowy grove for a while longer.

"E-Exalted One." Nikandros, who was overly fond of nagging, gripped his reins tight to hide his annoyance. "Night sets in early during the winters here. We must make haste to find an inn before darkness falls. We would be at a disadvantage wandering about in the dead of night."

The other three shuddered at the very thought, and Damen snorted, wiping the excess water from his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Duly noted, Nikandros."

If he so chose, they would wait for him due to the honor and love they bore him as the blood prince of Akielos, but he did not wish his loyal companions to freeze to death and besides, he had a mission to complete. Silently he slid on the fleece-lined gloves they had purchased at the border and retraced his steps back to his black charger. With ease, he remounted and could almost feel the sighs of relief rippling off of his four companions.

Back on the single road that wound through the forest, it did not take the five of them long before they reached a town. It was barely large enough to be called a town, but it had a main square, a derelict stone manor of some long-forgotten lord, and a small tavern with an inn on the second floor, probably for the benefit of merchants passing through the heart of the country to the border. Though their skin color and size raised a few eyebrows amongst the fair, slender Veretians, the five newcomers to town were simply accepted as another group passing through on a journey to a more populated destination.

Nikandros had been right to insist on them moving on, as the sun had already set by the time they dismounted their horses and paid the skinny stable boy a copper coin to stable their horses in the barn behind the inn. Aktis waxed poetic in anticipation of a fire and warm food.

Like a thousand other taverns across the four kingdoms, the inside was clean, if sparsely decorated, with a roaring fire in the hearth and a half-dozen old wooden tables set up across the room to accommodate travelers and local gossips. Of course, the innkeepers' stout wife stood behind the polished wooden bar, simultaneously taking orders while making food and pouring drinks, while her plain-faced daughter delivered the steaming plates and exchanged witty banter with customers. There were several glances at the new arrivals, but for the most part, it was comfortable in its' familiarity.

The innkeeper looked Damen up and down, and only his years of seeing all sorts come through the town kept the shock from showing on his face. Damen smiled; he knew he was tall, even by Akielon standards.

"Can…I help you?" He spoke slowly in anticipation that they did not speak the Veretian language.

This suited them all the better.

Damen and Nikandros were fluent in Veretian, but the others only spoke a few phrases with a strong Akielon accent. It would probably help them overhear gossip if people underestimated their intelligence, so Damen fully intended to speak as if he only understood a little.

"Traveling." He said simply, making his accent harsher than it normally was. "Need stay night. One night and food…and horses."

The innkeeper nodded, gesturing wildly to various points around the room. "One night, this much." He helpfully held up two fingers: two silvers for five people. "My wife, make food and give you. Give horses food tonight, ok?" Damen nodded, just as amused as he was thankful for the abundance of help. Nikandros forked over the coins, and the innkeeper took note with his eyes though he took pains not to look interested. "Please sit."

There was a dull echo of ‘Akielon' or ‘Akielos' in murmured Veretian as the five of them made their way to an empty table close to the fire.

From that point, they needed no excuse to strip of layers and warm themselves with the pleasant heat inside.

First, Damen removed his thick cloak. Such a thing was useless in a place as far south as his home in Ios, but for Vere, he had purchased it at the border; it was lush and velvety on the inner lining so that it would insulate the wearer, and the hood and nape were lined with gray wolf pelt. Then came the inner coat, tight and fitted in the Veretian style and made of fleece-lined leather. The boots too were lined with fur, but with rabbit, and Damen's hands were clumsy with the laces. In the end, he was left in fitted wool pants and a warm woolen undershirt, scandalously letting the laces hang slack, exposing a deep V-shaped chunk of his dark chest. All of these garments, save the undershirt, which was embroidered with red thread, were black.

The serving girl seemed a little hesitant to approach the undressing group of barbarians, but she took in the apparent quality of their clothing and perhaps decided a good tip would be worth overcoming her discomfort.

Damen made sure to smile warmly at her when she approached.

"What would you like to drink?" She asked, eyes flicking to everyone in the group, sizing them up. Her eyes widened when Damen translated for the benefit of Pallas, Lydos, and Aktis.

"Wine please," Damen responded.

When she returned, it was with a bottle of sharp, spiced wine and bowls of what looked to be boar stew, as well as half a loaf of brown peasant's bread and a small pat of deep yellow butter. It was a far cry from the meals he was used to, but Damen was not the type to scoff in the face of a warm meal, and he and his companions dug in with gusto.

So deep in the heart of Vere, the five of them felt at leisure to chatter in Akielon as they wished without fear of being overheard.

"Should we check the market tomorrow morning?" Pallas asked, his cheeks full of bread. "Even out here in the countryside, there might be a beauty or two hidden away."

"I had hoped to get as far as Arles in the next fortnight," Nikandros said. "More people, more options and with the palace there, I'm sure the beautiful people flock there to make their fortunes and hopefully find themselves with a rich patron."

Damen nodded at both of their good opinions. He valued their companionship for this. "I understand. I'd prefer to leave no stone unturned. Perhaps we should ask the innkeeper if there are any beauties hereabouts."

"He might recommend his daughter," Aktis said in mean-spirited jest.

Pallas was quick to defend, as sweet as he was. "Don't be cruel Aktis. She wouldn't be amiss in looks if she were to gain a bit of weight and wear a more flattering color." Damen snorted; Pallas could personally only find attraction in men, so it was a bit ironic that he was defending a woman's looks.

"Black suits everyone ill." Lydos agreed. "I have never seen a black garment in Akielos, and now we find an entire country of people who wear no other color."

Damen was inclined to agree. In Akielos people wore silks and cotton in the most vibrant shades of sea teal, wine-dark red, indigo, purple, white, and yellow, as widely varied as the flowers that bloomed in the fields outside of Ios. He knew the Veretians were also fond of jewel tones in their tight clothes he also knew was a reason for the abundance of black. "Have some care, Lydos." He cautioned gently between a sip of the house wine. "They wear black for the sake of mourning. Their only remaining prince of the blood has gone missing and is presumed dead. The entire country is grieving his loss."

Lydos and Aktis curbed their mocking talk after this pronouncement, and Pallas solemnly inquired as to the circumstances of the prince's disappearance.

Damen knew the basics of Vere's royal family simply from diplomats of Vere in his own court. Though they kept trade open, mostly the ruling classes of the four kingdoms kept to themselves. Damen had actually never met the only surviving prince, as his uncle ruled as regent until the prince came of age; the uncle Damen had met once or twice, and he struck Damen as a charming but calculating fellow. The previous king had died from sadness and shock upon hearing news of the death of his eldest son some six years before. A freak hunting accident, they said, a poorly aimed spear.

The rest Damen had heard from gossip at the border.

Prince Laurent, nineteen and proud and beautiful, had only been a few months from his ascension when scandal struck. A servant late in the night had gone to stoke the fire in the prince's rooms when signs a struggle had been discovered. A broken lock, bloody sheets, a window left ajar…And the prince missing along with some members of his own guard. Foul play was highly suspected in such a court, which some said was filled with vipers.

"Though they have been searching for the better part of a month, they have yet to find him," Damen admitted, tearing a chunk from a piece of bread. "Many speculate that it was his own captain that made off with him."

A few quick glances at Nikandros, and he was grimacing at the thought of such a betrayal. For someone as noble and loyal as he was, the thought of it was enough to make him fret the rest of the evening.

"It's like something out of a story," Aktis replied, sobered by the entire tale. "I can only help but wonder what happened to him." The rest of his companions nodded in agreement, all of them raised on wild, Akielon tales of bravery and rescue, of missing youths taken by the gods.

Damen shrugged. "I can only hope he is safe, wherever he may be."

After Damen's tale of the new intrigues of Vere had completed, the tavern had seen a steady flow of regulars who stopped by for a drink and a look at the most recent additions to their small town. At least most of the gawkers had the decency to listen to the lightning quick Akielon with polite disinterest. None of them stared openly but glanced over their dinner as Nikandros removed the map from one of his bags, spreading it across the table once the serving girl cleared the empty plates. Despite her curious glance, she could not hope to decipher the Akielon letters if she was able to read, to begin with.

Nikandros hoped that if they set off by early afternoon, they could reach the border of Barbin and be within ten days of Arles. Although Damen and Pallas wished to check every township, it simply was not possible, and they were forced to agree that Arles was their best bet for their current mission. By the time they had finished plotting, they had apparently lost the interest of the locals, and the tavern had cleared out for the most part.

The innkeeper's wife and daughter had retired for the evening, and the innkeeper was half-asleep by the door to deal with any unexpected, late-night guests or calls for more alcohol. The only other occupied table was half-hidden in the shadows and populated by eight or so scruffy men who looked like they could be trappers or rangers in the snowy foothills. They had bright red and yellow braided cords so that they could be easily recognized in the snowy wasteland.

As their own conversation waned and his companions seemed content to just bask lazily by the firelight, Damen could not help but overhear the conversation between the group of eight nearby.

The near emptiness of the tavern and Damen's group's refusal to speak Veretian gave the men a boldness that they might not have had otherwise had there been someone nearby to overhear them. Damen glanced quickly at Nikandros who returned his concerned gaze, giving a nearly imperceptible shake of his head in a promise to remain quiet. Pallas, Lydos, and Aktis remained oblivious to their benefit; Damen listened closer.

"---I swear to you, up in the old manor. I saw him there and one of the village girls said she takes him food on occasion. There can be no harm in checking."

"Is he as beautiful as they say?" Another asked with barely restrained excitement.

"A beauty unrivaled." One of the others cut in, and Damen felt his heart palpitate. "I saw him once in Arles and I can honestly say no girl I've ever seen can compare to him. That face was designed by angels, I swear to god."

There was a murmur of illicit satisfaction.

"Not to mention the payout we'd get…"

"We have to make it shameful." This man had violence rippling from his tone. "Those were the specific requests. It can't just be a quick gut job. We have to make it compromising." His expression left no question as to what he meant by such a statement, and Damen gripped the chair to keep from murdering the man behind him. In his opinion, no good, honest, or noble man would ever consider such a course of action.

"I have chalis." One of them piped up, and Damen recognized the name of a favorite love drug. "I've heard he's a formidable swordsman so it would be good to have this as a contingency. Burn a little outside his door, and he'll melt." There was a noise of satisfaction from several of the others. "It won't matter anyway since that manor is basically abandoned. No one will hear anything." Damen felt physically ill at this statement.

"When should we leave? It's well past nightfall, and I would think most of these backwater peasants should be asleep by now…Should we wait until these barbarians go upstairs?"

"They're foreigners, didn't you hear them earlier? I doubt they could speak a lick of Veretian." Damen was relieved that he and Nikandros had had the foresight not to use their Veretian. "No, just finish your drinks and then let's go. We've been on the road so long I'm excited to have a pretty face in bed again." There was a booming laugh of agreement, and Damen actually felt the arm of the chair break under his grip.

As the men cheerfully went back to their drinks, Damen turned to Nikandros. He already looked chagrined as he began to speak in quick, calm Akielon.

"Damianos, you know how I feel about killing locals…if you're set in your mind, I beg you: caution."

That got the attention of Pallas, Lydos, and Aktis who had not been able to eavesdrop. They took note of Damen's obvious fury and subtly began to put their hands on hidden weapons, anticipating a fight. "And you know me better than to think I would let anyone get away with what they have planned. Those foul bastards don't deserve to live if they speak the truth. If their victim is Veretian, I still find it my duty to protect them from harm." He was so filled with righteous anger that he struggled to keep his tone even.

"What is going on?" Pallas asked, struggling to keep the alarm off of his face.

Damen explained what he and Nikandros had overheard and felt a rush of pride when his other men echoed his disgust.

"I refuse to let them hurt anyone," Damen said with conviction; he knew that his comrades would follow him wherever he chose. "When they leave, I'm going to follow them."

The four others nodded in assent. "We are coming with you then."

Lydos jolted a little as the men behind them stood in preparation to leave. However, he stayed still and silent as Damen quickly raised a hand to stop. "We cannot leave immediately after them. It would be too suspicious." Although he hated it, "We have to wait. These men are the type to watch and make sure no one follows them. Start putting on your gear, and we'll follow them out in about ten minutes." Four nods assured him that his word was law and they would be ready the moment he was on his feet.

It was a torturous ten minutes for Damen after he laced up his boots and shouldered his cloak. He and his men were so skilled it was almost imperceptible that they were putting all of their clothes back on.

After the ten minutes was up, their group began to leave with all haste but ran into a bit of a problem when the innkeeper awoke at their departure. He seemed confused as to where they would be going so late at night in ankle-deep snow, but Damen managed to mildly assure him in his childish Veretian that they would return as soon as they were able. This wasted another good ten minutes, which gave them a head start, but Damen trusted in the abilities of his companions.

Another benefit to the snow was that it made a party of eight very easy to track.

The eight monsters could probably navigate the snow with ease and speed that Damen's group did not possess, as used to it as they were, but they seemed to have no fear of covering their route. Perhaps they hoped their trail would be obscured by local traffic before their crime was discovered.

Making no motion to hide, they had apparently traipsed through the village square and then on a path a little outside of the town limits to the abandoned manor. There was no sign of them outside, which caused Damen to panic a little. He sincerely hoped they were not late, or at least able to save the mystery man's life.

A single candle was lit in the third story window, but other than that, the house was cold and dark.

Nikandros, sword unsheathed, followed the footsteps to a massive oaken door, which would not bend even when Damen put a shoulder to it. "They must have locked it and barricaded it from the inside. Veretian furniture is notoriously heavy." Nikandros thought aloud as Damen rubbed his shoulder. "Apparently they are not as confident in being uninterrupted as they boasted…"

"How will we get in?" Asked Aktis in a whisper. "By the time we cut down the door, it may well be too late."

"We climb," Damen responded motioning to the uneven stone walls. "These walls are strong but old. You can see uneven and missing bricks for handholds, and it's only three stories up. Plus windows are easier to break than doors." Nikandros looked like he wanted to argue about letting the Crown Prince of Akielos climb the outer walls of a dubious old Veretian manor, but he seemed to think better of it, closing his mouth of complaints. "We used to scale the cliffs of Lentos in the summer; this should be easy in comparison."

He was a man of action and a leader. He would go first.

One thing that made the task more difficult was the cold. Damen's snow-slick boots gripped poorly on the walls, but he was not about to climb barefoot, as he was used to. He had removed his gloves, since they made his hands unwieldy, and in the first jutting stone he gripped there was instant regret.

Cold stone was no different in texture and temperature than blocks of ice, a new fact he would store for later adventures. He did not pause to put his gloves back on, but continued up at a steady pace, occasionally blowing hot breath on his miserable fingers. He could hear the soft grunts of his men climbing behind him.

When Damen was three-quarters of the way to the third-floor window, one obstacle was conveniently removed from his path. With no warning, the window was flung open from the inside, sending out tendrils of steam and snow from the sill raining down on Damen's bare head.

It was hardly refreshing, but Damen was pleased he would not have to shatter the window. Vaguely, he could make out the sound of raised voices from inside the manor, and he quickened his speed.

Damen's fingers rejoiced when he gripped the warm stones of the windowsill and hoisted himself up. The yellow glow of firelight was irresistible to him, and even though the window was a little narrow for his wide shoulders, he finally managed to maneuver himself into the third story bedroom, rolling deftly so that he ended up on his feet.

Before his loyal soldiers joined him, Damen did a quick survey of the room.

The unsavory fellows from the tavern were yelling obscenities in Veretian outside the only door in the chamber, and the door itself was creaking from their attempts to break it down. The door inside this room had also been latched with a rusty old lock that was surely about to break under stress, but a small side table and bookshelf were helping the door stay in place for now. The room smelled faintly sweet, like the smell of incense but the open window was helping the scent dissipate.

Small personal effects littered the room in an upset over the recent attempt to keep out intruders: papers scattered on the floor, a book tossed in a corner, chinaware in pieces from where they had been dropped, a pitcher of wine bleeding on the flagstones and dying the yellow and red embroidery of a discarded jacket.

When Damen looked to the four-poster bed in the center of the room, he realized with relief that he had not arrived too late…

And then his breath caught in his throat.

He hardly noticed the subsequent arrival of his comrades, as he was so transfixed on the man in front of him. Of all places, this was where he found a beauty beyond compare?

The man lying on the bed looked heated in comparison to Damen's frozen appendages; his billowy white shirt was unlaced at the neck showing tantalizing glimpses of skin, he was flushed pink, and his breath came in hard, short gasps in a manner that was exceedingly erotic.  

But more than that…he had that fine-boned, slender prettiness of Vere, long limbs that gave grace without making him look ungainly, and a face unmatched by any Damen had seen in all his days alive. A perfect balance of features, like a sculpture from a great master; the fullness of the lips, the long eyelashes, the high cheek bones…His only flaw was that his gorgeous golden hair was chopped unevenly in a shaggy, careless mop, but that could be easily fixed with a skillful pair of scissors.

Damen's throat actually felt dry, parched at the sight of him until someone knocked him out of the way.

Nikandros gave him a firm shove as the young man launched himself off the bed with surprising speed, a long, curved dagger slicing through the place in the air where Damen's cock had just been. His azure eyes glittered with serpentine malice.

"So he's hiring barbarians now? You bastards," he hissed, surprisingly with a calm, lovely voice. "Come at me. No matter how many of you…there are, no matter if you come from the ceiling…do not think I'll just roll over and die quickly. At least I'll take a handful of you with me."

Lydos, Aktis, and Pallas, who had also managed to clamber inside, stared at the young Veretian man in boldfaced shock. Damen glanced at his body and noticed that those fine legs were shaking ever so slightly. He was bluffing.

The door splintered and Damen moved his mind from beauty to strategy.

"We're going to ambush them," he ordered softly to the three younger ones standing behind him. He noticed that their lovely blond companion perked up at the sound of Akielon; so he understood? And he refused to cease his defensive stance. Damen liked his stubbornness. "Aktis, Lydos, I want you to bottleneck them at the door and slice them down as they come. Nikandros, I want you beside me to take care of the ones that make it past the door. Pallas, protect this one."

"I need no protection," The young man responded in accented Akielon, followed by him spitting at Damen's feet.

Nikandros sputtered at the insult and Pallas, Lydos, and Aktis looked shocked that someone so far from the border could speak Akielon so well, but Damen smiled over his correct guess. To be fair, this young man was probably very dangerous, as desperate as he was.

"Obviously," Damen replied, half jokingly in Veretian. "But we're barbarians. Listening is not in our repertoire."

The door gave, and the Akielons moved like a well-directed army.

With one easy shove, Damen pushed the young man out of the way, and if it looked like his knees faltered, he could chalk it up afterward to tripping over a loose floorboard. There were shouts of victory and then dismay as the attackers piled through door and were subsequently greeted by the practiced swords of Lydos and Aktis rather than a pretty boy panting on a bed.

If for some reason they managed to get past the soldiers at the door, the even more fearsome fighters of Nikandros and Damen waited within. With one easy move, Damen had caught one man by the throat, and stabbed up into his chest, through flesh and bone and into the heart. This was familiar anywhere, the sounds of battle and it was something Damen knew as well as breathing.

Somehow, one man managed to push past all four obstacles at the door, perhaps hoping to finish one goal and murder the man they were after. However, before Damen could run him through with a blade, he fell backward in mid-stride, a curved, gold-handled blade gleaming wickedly from where it was stuck in his throat. Damen looked at Pallas for such an excellent throw, but Pallas himself was gaping open-mouthed at the panting Veretian man he was supposed to be protecting. His pale arm was still extended from the throw, and he looked beautifully triumphant, if not about to topple over at any moment. Dangerous indeed.

The group of eight stood no chance against such an efficient group and were dispatched quickly, save for one man whom Aktis had to chase down the stairs. As soon as Damen wiped his blade off on one of the dead men's clothes, he turned back to more important matters.

The lovely Veretian was in the midst of slapping Pallas' helpful hand away with a cold, "Don't touch me." He appeared completely at ease, but Damen got the distinct feeling that he was not at all relaxed being aroused by chalis and surrounded by large foreigners.

Damen helpfully retrieved the young man's blade, cleaning it off and admiring the obvious quality. It was curved like a fang, and the handle was made of gold and fashioned with a scale pattern.

"I believe this is yours." He offered gently, holding the knife in an open palm. Despite his drugged state, the young man's speed was nothing short of extraordinary as he snatched it back. "Would you like to sit?" His offer was ignored.

"Who are you?"

"Exalted One," Nikandros interjected while surveying the bloody floors and the Veretian glanced at Damen, "perhaps we should move back to the inn and continue this conversation? I am ill at ease---."

"I'm not going anywhere with you," their newest companion interrupted imperiously, "until you tell me who you all are." Damen thought that despite his outward assurance, he must have been not at all at ease.

"Understandable." Damen sat on the bed, feeling the drain of a long day. "But I doubt you'll believe me if I tell you." That cold, beautiful expression did not change, and Damen shrugged. He also ignored Nikandros' impassioned expression, silently begging him not to reveal his identity outright. "My name is Damianos, and I am the Crown Prince of Akielos."

The young man crossed his arms and smiled with no warmth. "What a coincidence. I am Prince Laurent of Vere."


	2. Chapter 2 (Laurent)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2\. 'Ancient Egyptians viewed the snake as a sign of royalty and deity'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so due to the crazy length of this story (83k words...) I will be posting 2 chapters each time I update and I will update every 2 days so we can finish this before the October 15th deadline haha!  
> I hope you guys are enjoying the story so far! Any Greek or French readers will guess at some things before everyone else as I slip EVEN MORE snake references into this story. But there are some definite themes I tried to go with (colors, seasons, temperature) and a lot of those allude to my scaly babies.  
> I will be switching POVs between Laurent and Damen every chapter so you can hear their different thoughts on the situations. Writing Laurent's POV is so hard since he's very cunning and slippery. He notices everything but sometimes he will hide some things from the audience and think about those things in very vague terms. Damen is very open and honest with you guys but as usual he misses Veretian nuances when it comes to Laurent.
> 
> The sexual frustration really comes in strong here haha! Also I am a sucker for cheesy tropes, so you can expect a shit ton of them now and in the future. Horse-sharing??? Cliche, but by god I've got it in here! Also, the Kallisti is my very first reason for writing this story and it goes back to a very ancient and famous Greek myth... ;)  
> Enjoy!

** Chapter 2 (Laurent) **

Laurent was sincerely regretting his blasted pride at that moment, but he was using almost all his concentration not to let it show on his face. He should have sat on the bed when offered, but he refused to let them catch him at a disadvantage.

He felt like an overripe plum in the arbors of Arles. It was like his skin was too thin, bursting at the seams and juice was threatening to leak out just by the feeling of clothes rubbing his skin. He feared moving too much or having someone touch him would cause him to split open and spill sweet all over the floor, which was the last thing he wanted to do in the present company. Even now his knees shamefully trembled under the steady gaze of the five Akielon men in his borrowed room. That chalis was no joke.

He took stock of his ‘guests’ to distract himself from the throbbing.

They were all dark, tall, and muscular in the extreme, with the dark, curly hair and strong jaws of that nation to the south. Laurent was amazed they had been able to find Veretian clothes that fit such frames and was even hotter for their skill in battle; he had never seen eight men so easily dispatched. At least they kept a respectable distance as they chattered in their language at his most recent announcement.

Laurent was coiled tight, but he knew the moment their big leader, the prince of Akielos, made a move to subdue him he would be done. His mind wandered. Laurent would be engulfed in that frame, in arms like dark pythons. Those large hands would feel like long-forgotten sunshine, warm and gentle, wrapped around his wrists or running lines down his desperate body. That dark stubble on his chiseled jaw would make him shudder as it grazed his skin and Laurent would willingly spread wide open and melt, positively melt, as this barbarian pushed him down and warmed him from the inside out.

Laurent had to catch himself before he jumped the man or collapsed to the floor with his desire. He sincerely hoped his expression had not changed during his moment of weakness. He crossed his legs as well as his arms to lace his own body in place.

“We’ve heard Laurent of Vere is dead.” One of the older looking men responded in accented Veretian. He looked to be the captain and Laurent regarded him coldly, despite the fact that they had just saved his life.

“Truly you must be astonished by the skills of Veretian royalty then,” Laurent responded in Akielon, struggling to keep his voice even, “that I am able to be dead and standing before you at the same time.”

“How are we to believe you?” Damianos asked with a voice deep and comforting. Laurent felt his breath hitch as he stared at the man and imagined, for the briefest moment, how he would look unclothed. As if he could read minds, this Damianos smiled. “Have you any proof?”

“I might ask you the same question.” Laurent’s voice came out a little raspier than he intended. It was more of a way to be contrary; Laurent could tell just by his cultured Veretian and the way the other men deferred to him. He had the natural ease of a born leader.

This Damianos smiled wide, and it seemed guileless. “Nikandros?”

The old one, obviously Nikandros, reached deep into one of his pockets and removed something round and shining. Etched into the Akielon coin, massive and gold in Laurent’s palm was undoubtedly the handsome profile of the man in front of him complete with a crown of laurels. He was a prince indeed.

“I assure you the overly chiseled jaw is an embellishment.”

“I see,” Laurent replied, ignoring the mention of the very realistic jawline in favor reading the words stamped on the coin in Akielon. “I hope my skill with Akielon can convince you. If not, I can repeat it in Patran…Or several dialects of Vask. Or perhaps my gold can convince you.” Laurent removed his curved dagger, tracing the familiar L and the starburst crest carved in the top of the hilt above the scales. He could hardly believe it himself.

He knew with his haircut, courtesy of his fucking Uncle, and secondhand clothes he did not look the part. In fact, for quite some time, he did not feel princely at all. He felt…trapped and hunted. Not confident like this Damianos.

“Hmmm,” Damianos replied looking Laurent up and down. Laurent felt like his body was burning.

“I…have some questions.” He managed to gasp through his lust.

Damen stood with sudden swiftness, and Laurent had to control himself to keep from taking two steps back...Or forward. He could not seem to decide, so he stayed rooted in place.

“As do I. But Nikandros, you are right. This place is a little…Unsuitable at the moment,” His warm eyes flicked over to the pile of lifeless bodies at the door, “I suggest we make our way back to the inn and discuss matters there. Hopefully,” He looked at Laurent again, and Laurent tried very hard to make his glare frosty in response, “we can come to a decision and then make for the border.”

Laurent noted that Nikandros looked a little alarmed at this pronouncement. He felt there was some important point he was missing but was determined not to let it show.

The other three Akielons began to move instantly in response, but Laurent did not trust himself to move. He was afraid his cock could not survive any prolonged period of motion. Damianos seemed to notice his reluctance.

“Erm, Your Grace, Prince Laurent I fear if these men know your whereabouts, others might soon arrive as well. And…I believe they used some drug?” He sounded unsure so Laurent’s calm outward demeanor must have been convincing enough for these honest, but guileless men. “If you find it difficult to walk, I could…erm, carry you.”

The last thing Laurent needed for his fraying self-control, he thought, was to be pressed against that broad, warm chest and be carried like a maiden. He forced himself to glare. “If you touch me, I’ll gut you.”

Damianos nodded as if he expected this answer.

“We can make use of the stairs now, at least.” Damianos joked with his men, and Laurent remembered that they had burst from the window as if by magic. He did not relish the idea of climbing in his current condition. “Is that amenable to you, Your Grace?”

Laurent could not decide whether he was being teased or if this Damianos just smiled so much out of habit. “The stairwell is adequate. Unless you trust your fingers in the cold going back down?” Judging by the grimaces of his companions, they apparently did not trust themselves to climb back down. For a moment Laurent felt a little touched that these perfect strangers had gone to such lengths to assist him. But the feeling was gone as soon as it had come; in his experience, nobody did such a thing for nothing.

Despite the evident readiness of his men, Damianos refused to move away from Laurent. “Have you…any appropriate clothes?”

Laurent was still in the clothes he had left Arles in, almost a month before. In several villages, he had been able to find a discreet housewife or a child willing to wash them for him, but he glanced toward his cloak and jacket now. The black jacket had been a kindness from Aimeric, though one would question his taste in fashion, it was now wet with wine, and the delicate yellow and red detailing had become solid dark red. It would not be dry for a long while, and Laurent was torn.

On the one hand, it was too cold to be wandering around for too long in his undershirt, and he would stick out due to the white color of his shirt; whoever Uncle was sending after him would notice if they were in town. On the other hand, the cold might help calm the heat that still flickered in his lower belly.

Wordlessly, Damianos removed his cloak and, before Laurent could protest, the rich, heavy fabric settled heavy on his shoulders. Curse him for his gallantry, Laurent could smell spices and horse and sunlight in this cloak, and his knees knocked together.

His body ached as he sat to lace up his boots.

Though the other three Akielons had disappeared into the darkness of the stairwell, Damianos lingered near the door, since his giant form could not fit in the frame, and carried on a leisurely conversation with his companion Nikandros, who looked anything but relaxed. Laurent only caught snippets of the conversation, but he overheard Nikandros mention ‘strong protests’, ‘highly questionable situations’ and something about blond hair. Damianos seemed to ignore the arguments of his captain cheerfully, and Laurent wondered if rescuing locals in distress was a common occurrence with this group.

His whole body still trembled, but Laurent forced himself to stand. He had been through worse and clutched the cloak tight around him to hide his discomfort.

Damianos’ burning gaze was turned on him again. “Are you ready, Your Grace?”

His Veretian was warm, like honey, and Laurent wanted nothing more than to slam the door shut and then throw himself backward onto the bed. But this was an opportunity. If anything he would be safe for the night. That was a luxury he hadn’t had in years, he remembered, as he glanced at the dead mercenaries.

Slowly he shouldered his pack, half-hidden under the bed, and retrieved his book from where it had been knocked to the floor.

“Ready.”

Then he tipped the candelabra over in hopes that any evidence of his presence would be burned to ashes.

 

Prince Damianos and his compatriots, Laurent concluded, were disgustingly noble and chivalrous and it was not just for show.

By some miracle of his stubbornness, Laurent managed to trudge unassisted through the snow and keep up with his new companions’ long legs. Though by the time the lot of them reached the local inn, he felt as though he might faint dead away.

One of the limber, young ones, Aktis he thought, volunteered to climb the outer walls of the inn so that they did not arouse suspicion by adding a sixth member to their party. Laurent hid behind Damen’s expansive back as they reentered the inn and kept his fists balled in the cloak to keep from clutching Damen’s jacket. He made sure the hood of the cloak covered his face; he had learned long ago never to trust any man while his uncle still had influence in Vere.

The room they occupied had three large beds, and Laurent had to hold back not to run to one. When he sat, it was very slowly to compensate. Damianos sat opposite him after a short while and, thankfully, no one else made a move to share the space with him.

There was a smart rap at the window, and the climbing Akielon was allowed in to warm himself by the fire.

“Wine?” Damianos asked, motioning to the bottle on a bedside table.

“Water,” Laurent replied. He avoided alcohol on the whole.

Damianos nodded and gave a quick order, “Someone fetch His Grace a glass of water.” Good subjects as they were, Laurent was supplied with one immediately. He nursed it in hopes his cock would settle as Damianos and his men began to strip off their boots and outer layers. They did not appear fatigued, but rather curious as Damianos began what was sure to be a lengthy conversation with their new guest. He did so in Akielon for their benefit. “Now…I honestly believe you are Laurent of Vere, but it doesn’t matter if you are not. I still have a proposition for you.”

Laurent was struck by a feeling like a chip of ice in his heart. It warred with the fire in his stomach.

Though he found the prince across from him devastating to his nether regions, he was not of sound mind to be fucked. The thought of it terrified him, but now he was trapped here. He cursed himself if these men were not as honorable as he thought then he would be raped all the same. Laurent sipped water to hide his alarm and give himself time to compose his expression.

“Does it have something to do with why the Prince of Akielos is so deep in the heart of Vere?”

“Indeed it does,” Damianos replied sipping from a goblet of wine. “Are you familiar with Akielon traditions?” Laurent gave him a noncommittal shrug; he was very well versed in many traditions, but he did not want to appear stupid if he was unaware of the one Damianos was currently undertaking. “Well, when…When a young person of noble birth comes of age, they and their trusted friends are given the challenge to showcase their strength, honor, and discernment by…erm, well, by scouring the country for people of great beauty. It’s called the _Kallisti_ , the fairest one. It’s meant to showcase the beauty of Akielos as well as the skill of the nobility.

When the young nobles have made their choices, then they bring their beauties back to the capital of Ios to be presented to my father, King Theomedes, and the council _kyroi_ who vote on the winner of the competition. Five years ago, my older brother found a woman named Jokaste who is still widely considered the greatest beauty in all of the Akielos and…as a competitive younger brother; I seek to usurp him as the most skillful in this aspect.”

“So…you barbarians kidnap beautiful people and show them off in the capital of Akielos?” Laurent made sure his voice was flat to showcase how he felt about such a barbaric tradition wordlessly.

“No! Well…” Damianos bit his lip as he thought it over. “Perhaps in the times of my ancestors the people were kidnapped, but nowadays it is considered a great honor to be chosen for the _Kallisti_! Usually, we need only ask permission from the individual and their family. In fact, many times the entire journey ends in marriage between the noble and their choice.”

“Of course,” Laurent replied sarcastically thinking of the type arranged marriages in the court of Vere, “And I suppose this has nothing to do with the fact that these beautiful people are entirely at the mercy of their captors?”

Damianos was bright enough to catch the insinuation, and he flushed dark in the light of the fire. “Absolutely not! No man of honor would ever, ever do such a thing to someone under their protection. It would be grounds for elimination if not…punishment.” He looked furious at the thought; too honorable then, Laurent thought wryly.

“So then…a small penalty? A heartfelt apology and the show goes on?” That’s how it would be done in Vere, though the apology would be nonchalant at best.

Damianos glanced away, and something dark passed over his handsome features. “I…I wouldn’t say that exactly. A few years ago we had a young nobleman…Pay rough court to the young woman he was planning to present. She confessed the crime to my father and the _kyroi_ and of course he was convicted to be killed for his crime. Though should the victim feel merciful they can choose to have their male attacker flogged or their female attacker banished to one of the islands off the coast. I am only telling you this,” Damianos fixed Laurent with a gaze of utter sincerity that made Laurent want to cross his legs to keep himself in line, “to assure you that I will not harm you in any way. I swear on my honor; you are safe with us.”

Laurent longed to correct him.

Any friend of his was not welcome in Vere. Any person who wished to protect him was as good as dead, as far as his uncle was concerned. But this beautiful fool didn’t know the half of it. He wouldn’t understand, so Laurent stayed silent.

“I don’t see why any of this concerns me.” Laurent sighed, purposefully looking away.

He knew exactly why it concerned him; people had been making lewd remarks on his appearance ever since the tender age of twelve, and even his ruined hair could not hide his appearance. This enormous foreigner wanted to win his competition and spiriting Laurent away to Akielos would guarantee his win. His Veretian ways were too set, and he had to be contrary.

With surprising speed for someone so large, Damianos took one of Laurent’s hands in his own and dropped to both his knees in front of Laurent.

Laurent jerked, not because he was surprised, but because the feeling of the large, warm, calloused hand was enough to make him spill a little in his trousers. He dug his nails into his palms, and his eyes swam as he focused on Damianos’ face, refusing to crack. Goddamn, the _chalis_.

“Come with me to Akielos,” Damianos asked with utter confidence, and Laurent was sure he heard a soft groan from someone else in the room. “Even if you are lying, even if you are not Prince Laurent, you are the most,” he looked Laurent up and down, and Laurent tried to glare “…most gorgeous young man I’ve ever seen in my life, which has known no lack of beauty. It would be my honor to escort you safely to Ios, to present you, prince or no, to my father and the people of my court. Please, do me this honor and be my _Kallisti_.”

Laurent could not help but notice the unusual hush that had fallen over the Akielons in the room. They were staring at him with looks of reverence and amazement almost like…it was almost like how he imagined people looked at a beloved prince of the blood. Not a look he was used to…

To see their crown prince make such an announcement on his knees in deference must have been quite a scene.

But Laurent refused to let things lie as they were.

“Did you write that speech down or do you naturally this verbose?”

Damianos grinned. “I could ask you the same thing since you use words like ‘verbose’ with a foreigner.”

With more of an intent to keep from losing his mind and not from rudeness, he swiftly extricated his hand, and the loss of that heat sent a shiver up his spine. Damianos looked a little shocked, and Laurent felt a sense of relief to have regained the upper hand. “Allow me to recollect: you wish for me to abandon my country in an hour of great need so that I may return to your country and participate in an ancient beauty competition? You’ll forgive me if I do not seem overly enthused.” There was a gasp at the rudeness of his statement, but Laurent was not the type to care about the sensitivities of barbarians. However… “Is there some incentive for me to assist you with this? Or just the honor and glory of being allowed to compete.”

Damianos must have heard the neat sarcasm in his last statement, for his eyes narrowed and jaw clenched a little. He was not used to being refused then, Laurent felt cruel glee rising in his body. Though if he pinned Laurent down? It was more than just glee then.

“What exactly did you have in mind?”

It could work. Laurent looked at the size of him. Hell, even Damianos by himself could cut through Veretian ranks with chilling ease. “I want an army.”

“An army?” Damianos repeated slowly.

“Specifically the Akielon army,” Laurent continued, crossing his legs to keep from any further…accidents. “You see mine has currently been commissioned to kill me so; I would make use of yours in the meantime. To reclaim my throne.”

“To kill you, Your Grace?” For once, one of the other Akielons, the sweet-faced one, could no longer keep his thoughts secret and let the shock out into the open.

Damianos’ eyes flashed dangerously in the firelight and Laurent lost his breath.

He knew well enough when he’d lost, Uncle had made sure to let him know the feeling on several occasions, and Laurent knew now that he had no choice in this matter. This enormous brute in front of him had already gotten it set in his stubborn mind that he was going to protect Laurent and kill anyone who stood in his way, despite any qualms Laurent might have about the arrangement. It was quite exhilarating to realize, but Laurent still needed to decide how he felt about it. An enormous Akielon prince as a companion was not the best way to remain undetected in Vere.

“Yes, I thought that was obvious, considering the prior events of this evening although…Those men were no soldiers of Vere. Probably some sell swords in search of…Easy money.” Laurent did not like to think of himself as easy prey, but he was still just that at the moment, despite the blade near his hip.

Damianos tensed up at the memory. “Who has ordered such a thing?”

He looked at though he would wring the neck of whoever Laurent named and Laurent was more than pleased to indulge him, just based on the imagery in his mind. “You might consider who has the authority to order such a thing? At least in Vere, the only person who can do so is the one who rules the country.”

Realization took hold in the eyes of his new companions and Laurent heard the Akielon translation of the title he hated most in the world.

“Why does the Regent of Vere wish to have you murdered?” Damianos asked with fire in his voice, and Laurent was surprised to note that he heard no incredulity in his tone. It appeared that without even offering hard evidence to support his claims, Damianos believed Laurent’s plight.

“Because I am about to turn twenty and will inherit the throne of Vere the moment I do.” Memories rushed back in waves of torture that even chalis could not counteract. “It appears that my Uncle has grown overtly fond of power after six years on the throne particularly as it gives him license to explore his…vices. And so for the past six months, the Veretian court has become intimately familiar with the power struggle currently raging between their remaining royalty. It can hardly be called a fair fight though. He has been doing his best for years to demean me publicly.” Laurent gestured nonchalantly to the most recent victim of one of his public punishments.

“He cut your hair?” Damianos’ growl was enough to send Laurent into a spiral, though he took pains to keep his expression flat. Some primeval part of him heard the danger, felt it in the air, and it made the blond hair on his arms stand on end, but there was another part of him…

“Not personally, no,” Laurent responded with careless ease, “but he ordered it done. Fine job they made of it, no?”

Damianos looked at Laurent’s messily chopped hair, and every emotion going through his mind seemed to show on his face. He was so delightfully transparent. It was refreshing in comparison to what Laurent was used to in court of Arles. Then he had to stand and pace to burn off some of the stress that was obviously roiling under the surface. His expression was now veiled by shadows but occasionally the fire dyed him red and his emotions seemed to match.

“Some of the few loyal men I have left, alerted me of his intent to…make his claim on the throne more secure by relieving me of my head and so I have been hiding until I turn twenty and can make a rightful claim.”

“You are the prince!” Damianos was dramatic in his anger.

“Am I?” Laurent asked sarcastically, fighting down his own emotions. “I had forgotten in the heat of the moment.”

Damianos ignored his saucy retort. “Surely your royal blood must count for something.” Clearly, this revelation had rattled him and everything he considered morally upright. “Your Grace, Prince Laurent, I must insist you come with us. We must tell my father immediately. We must consult the _kyroi_. Such a thing should not be allowed by anyone in the four kingdoms!” The captain, Nikandros, looked as though he wanted this line of thought to cease immediately, but Laurent was quicker with his interruptions.

“Promise me the Akielon army.” He stood unsteadily with viscous liquid secretly running down his leg, but it had the desired effect. All eyes were on him. “Swear it to me on your honor, one prince to another, and I’ll go to Ios and give my testimony to whomever you wish. I’ll be the _Kallisti_ and dance for the Akielon court,” Damianos’ eyes burned at the mention of it, and Laurent purposefully made his voice low and seductive as he made slow strides toward him, “all you have to do…Is give me your army so I can take back what is mine.” By the time he finished his passionate speech, Laurent felt like he might collapse and was so grateful that his black trousers did not show the tiny bits of wetness, but he was within a handbreadth of Damianos, who could not seem to tear his eyes away.

It was clear he would now listen to the council of no other, save his own desires.

This must have been a common occurrence, because the captain looked resigned and vaguely pained, having come to the same conclusion as Laurent. Damianos, anger forgotten, dropped back down to one knee at Laurent’s feet looking remarkably like a Veretian man swearing fealty or undying love.

“Your Grace, Laurent of Vere, if you speak the truth…I swear when we reach Ios and complete the _Kallisti_ , my army is yours.”

Victory. Laurent felt the excitement pulse through him.

With a desperation to return to the safe anchor of the bed, Laurent turned on his heel and rudely abandoned Damianos on his knees. He wondered how many slights his companions could witness before they lost their patience with him, but right now he just wanted to curl up in bed and rest until the throbbing in his cock stopped.

Damianos had stood by the time Laurent had seated himself on the bed and began to unlace his boots. Rather than looking upset, he had a look somewhere between curiosity and hunger. “We will ride out before dawn. I’d like for us to leave before our little blaze is discovered.” At least this Nikandros could agree with, as he nodded in assent.

“Excellent,” Laurent said this dismissively as if he were not heavily drugged, desperately hoping the effects would wear off in mere hours, “I feel I should inform you all that you agree to accompany me anywhere within the borders of Vere could very well mean your death.”

There was a ripple of laughter from his new Akielon guards.

Damianos poured himself another glass of wine and Laurent secretly hoped he was not the type to forget himself and be overly amorous after a few glasses of wine.

“You need not worry.” Damianos sat on the bed opposite Laurent, and it creaked under his weight. “We are not ones to shy away from conflict. Any man who wishes you harm will have to go through my men and me. Our duty as part of the _Kallisti_ is to protect you from any harm, even at the cost of our safety. You are safe with us.”

Laurent kicked off his boots and ached to unlace his trousers next and relieve the pressure on his crotch, but he refused to do so under the scrutiny of the present company.

“We should rest,” Nikandros cautioned, looking outside to where it was, thankfully, still dark, “an early morning is ahead of us, and we have quite a bit of ground to cover.”

Laurent stiffened immediately. The math did not add up in his favor, as the scarcity of beds guaranteed he would be forced to share with someone. He did not relish the idea in his current state as any touch could shatter his self-control, and he might end up begging to do something shameful. Especially if Damianos was chosen as his bedmate.

“I do not share.” His voice came out sharp and, to his ears, desperate.

Damianos smiled to himself at Laurent’s apparent selfishness, but he made no motion to argue. “Of course not. Please rest yourself, and we will figure out our sleeping arrangements.” There were perks to being the _kallisti_ of a prince…

Laurent inclined his head by way of thanks, but Damianos could have no scope of the sheer relief that washed through Laurent’s blazing body. He gave no more thought to his new group of companions as he pulled the covers over his body and turned so that his back was to the lot of them. He thanked god that Akielons could not read minds, as he thought of someone very tall and dark, smelling of sunshine as he unraveled the laces of his trousers and gave his cock room to breathe.

The stress of the evening caused him to sleep dreamlessly within moments of his head touching the pillow.

Laurent slept through the night, which was a blessing, and all too soon a large hand was touching his shoulder in a movement to wake him. It worked. His stomach churned at the familiar feeling, and he gritted his teeth to keep from letting any sound escape. Even more alarmingly, his body responded to the touch with an unwanted flicker of lust like burning coal in the spot between his hips. He forced his eyes open, despite his utter exhaustion.

“Your Grace, Prince Laurent.” Damianos removed his hand the moment Laurent opened his eyes, and Laurent felt immediate relief. Even running for his life through Arles was a lovely dream in comparison to what he first thought he was going to wake up to. “We must set off soon. The sun is about to rise.”

Laurent glanced to the window, and the darkness was beginning to tinge with the bluish-violet of a winter dawn.

The other Akielons were also awake and began to put on their clothes and, judging by the amount of bedding on the floor, one of them had spent the night on the floor by the fire. As Damianos stepped away, Laurent found to his growing horror that the chalis had not abated entirely. His dick felt sore and that most shameful spot to him twitched with need.

He ignored both feelings and got to his feet to lace up his boots.

Like a well-dictated army, the Akielons were dressed and ready all at the same time and then the three younger ones drew lots to see who would climb out the window this time. Laurent felt extremely ill prepared in comparison, clad only in his thin, cotton undershirt and wool trousers.

One of the young men accepted his cold task with grim determination and the remaining four clustered around Laurent to walk down the stairs. It was too early for even the innkeeper to stir and the six of them rejoined in the relative warmth of the stables.

Once there, another statistical problem was discovered.

Laurent had no mount, and the Akielons only had five. Laurent had been forced to abandon his horse one night when some Veretian soldiers surprised him the last time he had been foolish enough to stay in an inn. Laurent doubted it would serve them well to steal the only other horse available, a flea-bitten old nag that looked positively homely in comparison to the elegant and powerful steeds in the adjoining stalls. There was also the problem of the inadequacy of his clothes.

Damianos’ appraising eye also noted these problems and approached Laurent. “Your Grace, for your safety from the cold, it seems that we must ride double until we can locate you a horse and some more appropriate clothes.” Laurent’s dismay must have shown on his face because Damianos looked torn. “Unless you can think of some other alternative?”

Laurent searched desperately for a moment.

But even his intelligence could find no other alternative. Damianos’ horse was the largest and most capable of carrying a second rider, and his powerful body would give off the most heat along with the lush quality of his cloak. Laurent’s chalis-addled lower half was rejoicing, but the rest of him felt vaguely sick.

“We have not the time for alternatives,” Laurent admitted finally, “and I would prefer not to freeze to death.”

Damianos looked a little too pleased with Laurent’s decision and hoisted himself up onto the saddle first. He offered an assisting hand, perhaps only as a formality, as Laurent ignored the gesture and the pain of his body as he settled gingerly in front of the large Akielon prince. Instantly, he knew it was going to be a hellish ride.

It was like sitting in the warmth of the sun, like a coal brazier in a freezing room. It took every last shred of his self-control not to sink backward in relief as Damianos enfolded him in the warm velvet of his thick, dark cloak. His very hips itched, and he was torn between feeling dreadfully uncomfortable and the safest he had felt in…years. So instead he just sat stiffly as the group of Akielons rode out of the village due south and toward, what he hoped, was a reclamation of his own life.

The cold of early morning lashed at his cheeks and hair, but his entire body was warm inside the cloak. The smell and heat, the faint bouncing of the horse…Laurent tried to focus on anything else and desperately hoped that his desire did not show in his expression or posture.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3 (Damianos)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> '3. Kingsnakes are pound for pound one of the strongest of the constrictors and they actively cannibalize other snakes.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so pleased for the positive reaction for this story! After writing for a while with no feedback, I didn't know if the plot was engaging or not...Thanks to everyone for being so supportive!  
> So we're back to Damen and I love going from the last sentence of chapter 2 to the first sentence of this chapter haha! Damen has struggles with reading Laurent. I'm so glad you guys like some tropes because these chapters will have them in spades. A sexy bath scene first? Yes please haha! I also love writing Damen when he counters Laurent's sass. Laurent is unprepared ;)  
> Also once again shout out to my beta, theinternetbed, for dealing with my overt love of ellipses.

** Chapter 3 (Damianos) **

The Prince of Vere was unreadable.

Damen had seen slaves and soldiers and nobles under the effects of _chalis_ and each and every one had nearly been sobbing in their desire to be touched and licked and fucked for hours on end. Not so for this Laurent of Vere.

In fact, he had hardly looked fazed in their first 24 hours together, over ten of which were spent in the saddle…bouncing up and down…his soft bum pressed tight against Damen’s crotch. Damen had spent most of the ride imagining the possibilities of making love on horseback.

Despite Damen’s occasional questions, Laurent refused to talk or reveal more about himself during their ride and instead listened silently to the conversation of Damen’s men as they chattered excitedly about returning to the warmth of Akielos. Apparently, even Nikandros could find the benefit in their situation so long as he was warm while doing so.

By their second morning together, it was becoming harder and harder to dispute the fact that their newest companion was some sort of royalty; if not the missing prince, then definitely the son of a lord or whichever other nobles were high in the Veretian hierarchy. He demanded a bed of his own when they happened upon an inn in the next village over and it was Pallas’ lot to sleep by the fire this time around. His men did not complain and Laurent did not complain but he did make some outlandish requests in turn. For the _Kallisti_ , it was Damen’s joy to grant these requests. It showed patience of spirit and a caring nature, which would be looked up favorably by the judges. Protecting this Laurent from anyone wishing to harm him would also be seen as a task worthy of a winner.

Nikandros just seemed to be glad that they would not have to ride as far north as Arles.

Though they were unable to locate another horse adequate enough for their party, in their second village they did find clothing for Laurent’s lean frame. The black jacket fitted to his body, accentuating the sensuous curve of his lower back, but it did not fit in completely with mourning clothes as it was embroidered sparingly with white thread. Laurent did not complain about his clothes but he did not look best pleased at having to share a mount with Damen again.

On the third day, reaching the border of Chasteigne, Prince Laurent broke his normal silence and began to ask Damen tentative questions about Akielos and the _Kallisti_.

“Who came up with such a barbaric tradition?” He asked irritably in what Damen realized was one of his two moods: irritable and brooding. At least he looked lovely in either state.

“It’s not barbaric.” Damen argued gently. Despite the warmth of Laurent’s new clothes, Damen was still afraid he was too cold, as his cheeks were constantly flushed pink, even in the warmth of an inn. “Participating in the _Kallisti_ is the highest honor. It was dreamt up by one of the ancient kings of Akielos, Paris, in order to convince his father and the kyroi to let him marry a baseborn woman.” It was a story Damen was familiar with, and one no less exciting the more he told or heard it. “In those days beauty was highly revered and he challenged his nobles to find a man or woman more bewitching. No one could succeed and he was allowed to marry his lover.”

Laurent gave a deep sigh and Damen ached to snake his hand up and rest it securely over Laurent’s heart. Despite having the disposition of viper, Damen was beginning to understand how his ancestor could cause such a spectacle for a lover.

“Explain to me what happens so that I may prepare myself.” Laurent stumbled a little over the pronunciation of Akielon, but he did it, perhaps to remind the others that even their whispers were not above his comprehension.

Damen spoke in Veretian in turn.

“It is a nationwide event. In the amphitheater everyone gathers and on a dais of raised marble the noble men and women present their _kallisti_ when the sun is highest in the sky. The men and women can be presented in any way we choose. In the past many would disrobe entirely,” Laurent raised one eyebrow in disbelief, “or compete in sports to show off the beauty of their bodies as well as their faces. In the past _Kallisti_ , my brother’s choice won by braiding fragrant blossoms into her golden hair. When she mounted a horse and rode a lap around the amphitheater she untied her hair and the petals streamed out behind her…” Damen’s mouth went a little dry at the memory, at the jealousy he had felt in that moment, and the grim determination he felt when he would have to best such a display, “It was very…”

“Cliché?” Laurent offered when Damen searched too long for a description.

“ _Beautiful_.” Damen corrected and Laurent scoffed.

“So we are allowed to choose how to… _display_ ourselves?” He sounded disgusted but Damen thought the benefits of having the Akielon army at his disposal was enough to get him to take the event seriously. “I may decide?”

“If you wish. I’m sure your sweet remarks would win them over easily.” Damen replied teasingly, nudging his horse up over an embankment. “In the next large town we find, we will send out a messenger to ride hard to Ios and deliver my father the message that we are on our way home. Any preparations you’d like I can include in the message.”

Laurent turned to face him the moment he mentioned a large town, and a very wry look had taken hold of his pretty face. “I hope you have not forgotten that there are men all over Vere who have been promised a fortune in gold for my head on a silver plate. Any large town we enter could very well mean my death.”

A blaze of anger rose belligerent and hot in Damen’s chest at the thought of mercenaries and the sight of Laurent’s uneven hair. “No one is going to hurt you.” He swore. “Any man who seeks you harm will find his throat at the tip of my blade. I swear it.”

Laurent looked him up and down and then turned to face the front.

“Suit yourself.”

They sat in silence a bit longer, Pallas, Aktis and Nikandros were riding a few paces behind and were too cold for conversation, and Damen took the time to appreciate his surroundings. It was no longer snowing and the forest was quiet in a way that it never was in Akielos. The black tree branches creaked overhead but otherwise it gave a feeling of serenity, especially since no one could move unseen in the white expanse. In a way he was going to miss this frigid beauty. Laurent fit in like nymphs of Akielon legend: pale, cold, beautiful, and dangerous.

“You have a beautiful country, Your Grace,” he commented.

Laurent turned his head and Damen was treated to a long look at that gorgeous slope of nose and lips. “You’d do best not to call me that in any place with people about. Unless you _want_ a fight. And…that should be a stark reminder that it is not my country.” He turned away again. “ _Not yet_.”

If he was to be believed---and Damen trusted he was---then being hunted in the place he called home was not exactly comforting. Damen did not know what to say in response. Luckily, Lydos was ready on hand to provide a welcome distraction.

“Exalted One, Damianos,” Lydos called back from where he was leading their band as a scout, “there’s a township up ahead. Your orders, sir. Are we to retire for the night or press on?” His dappled gray mount appeared on the crest of the hill they were currently about to climb.

Damen thought for a moment.

Progress was not slow, but he was eager to return to Akielos. He was mindful of Laurent’s warning about towns, but at the same time, he and his men were more than enough to take on anything short of a small army. It was still a good hour until nightfall that they could continue to ride but there was no guarantee they’d find another place to stay and Damen did not relish the idea of being out if there was a snowstorm. No, he didn’t like the idea of putting Laurent and his men in danger.

Laurent thought faster and once again showed that he definitely had some sort of skillful training as he took hold of the situation. His crystalline, accented Akielon rang like a bell, commanding attention. “This village is on the border of Chasteigne. The next place large enough to support a party our size will not be for another ten or fifteen miles. While we could cover that ground in any other season, the snow will make it nigh impossible. As risky as it is, I would prefer the possibility of mercenaries and soldiers over the certainty of freezing to death.”

His logic was quite concrete. Damen smiled down at him.

“Weren’t you worried about being spotted, Your Grace?”

“I am more worried about your lack of memory at the moment,” Laurent shot back, “as I recall saying not to call me Your Grace in public. And I am not worried. I am perfectly capable of defending myself when I am not drugged. If you like,” he unsheathed his lovely gold-handled dagger and Damen delighted at the looks of shock and horror on his men’s faces, “I can provide an immediate demonstration, though I find you disarmed.”

Damen heard the hiss of more swords being unsheathed; to draw a blade on a member of the royal family of Akielos was considered treason and an automatic death sentence. Even for a _kallisti_ , it was a bold move. He held up one hand in a gesture of peace.

“You make a compelling argument though I would take my chances with that blade rather than your mouth.”

“Most men find my logic charming.” Laurent quipped saucily and Damen wanted to bury his tongue in that poisonous mouth. He was utterly bewitched.

“ _However_ ,” Damen continued, keeping his eye on the curved, silver fang of the blade in that elegant hand, “I am fond of all of my appendages,” if he shifted his hips a little, he would blame the discomfort of being the saddle too long, “and I’m sure my men and I would appreciate if you put that away.” When Laurent smiled cruelly, Damen added, “ _Please_.”

He heard a swift intake of breath with that.

In Akielos, as Crown Prince his word was law. He never made requests, only orders and they were obeyed immediately. They had probably never heard the word ‘please’ from Damen’s mouth. But Laurent was a prince as well. He did not abide by the same rules.

With a smile matching his blade in beauty and danger, Laurent obliged and tucked the knife back into secrecy.

“Thank you…Laurent.”

“Duly noted, Damianos,” Laurent responded. Even though it was upon his request, it appeared that he did not particularly like being referred to so informally. He whipped his head to the front so that Damen could no longer see his expression and Damen responded by tucking his cloak in around them.

“Please call me Damen.” He offered.

Then he spurred his horse on after Lydos.

 

Damen was beginning to wonder if Laurent’s easy acceptance of staying in the local town was not so much due to the fear of freezing to death but due to the artesian springs that formed into natural pools and were kept hot with heated stones thrown into the water. The local inn had a separate section cordoned off solely for a pool reserved for guests to bathe. In the summer, travelers would be free to wash the dirt from their weary bodies, but in the winter and early spring, when snow was still falling, it was more to thaw out limbs.

Upon their first sight of another human being, Laurent wordlessly tugged the cloak from Damen’s shoulders and buried himself deep inside it, making extra careful to obscure his fine face and wild golden hair. Though Damen found it a little dramatic, he took the opportunity to take the reins tighter in his gloved hand and use his entire body to shield Laurent from view.

Laurent kept himself hidden while they paid for their lodging and did not seek to remove the cloak until they were safely in the confines of their room. Even after the paltry fire was stoked into an acceptable blaze, Laurent’s cheeks remained flushed as if he were still freezing.

Nikandros and Lydos volunteered to spend their remaining half hour of daylight perusing the town for proper mount for Laurent, while Pallas, Aktis, and Damen stayed behind to guard Laurent and plan their path for the next day.

While Pallas and Aktis unpacked what little needed to be unpacked, Damen meandered over to where Laurent was standing, arms crossed, staring deep into the orange blaze. Feeling a little bold, Damen gently took an uneven chunk of gold hair between his thumb and forefinger.

Laurent spun out of his grip and Damen smiled down at him. “If it pleases you, Yo---Laurent, we can attempt to salvage your hair this evening. I am no barber by any means but…”

“No,” Laurent refused outright and Pallas actually dropped one of the bags in his abject shock. As if to add insult to injury, Laurent repeated his sentiment, “No. It does not please me and I’ll thank you not to cut my hair in the foreseeable future.” Damen took hold of it again, rubbing the longest strands in awe. Before it was cut it must have been down to his chest, if not longer. It must have been something to see when it was long, like a sheet of pure gold.

“It’s such a waste that it was cut,” he murmured.

“Yes,” Laurent once again deftly maneuvered out of the way and Damen let him go, “It is _such_ a shame. If only hair were capable of growing back…” He said this all in Akielon for the benefit of Damen’s men and while Pallas was staring at Laurent in bold-faced shock, Aktis actually clapped a hand over his mouth at the witty but brave remark.

This prince of Vere had a tongue on him and Damen was amazed to find he quite liked it.

Still Laurent was in charge of his own destiny and he supposed that included his hair as well. Damen let the subject drop until Laurent tired of having a blond mop on his head. Damen left Laurent alone with his thoughts.

He really only spoke to Pallas and Aktis from where they were bent over the map of Vere on the table until Nikandros and Lydos returned. Laurent’s jaw clenched only little when they explained most of the decent horses had been taken south to breed in anticipation of spring. Damen wasn’t complaining. He liked the current arrangement.

Laurent remained silent through their dinner, but as he and Nikandros went back to the map Laurent stood and moved toward the door.

“Your Grace,” Pallas made a move to stand, though he kept his head bowed in respect, “where are you going?”

Laurent’s gaze was ice. “I don’t answer to you.”

“If you’re going to the baths,” Damen responded in turn, knowing how fastidious Veretians were with their cleanliness, “please be careful. If you are as wanted as you say you are---.”

There was the hiss of metal and Laurent held his dagger aloft in a flash of gold and silver. He did not seek to respond further than that and Damen could only shrug and watch him go. Still, it made it hard to concentrate on the map or his companions opinons without his cold, golden presence in the room. Of course Nikandros noticed; he noticed everything.

“Damianos,” He said, “if you are in need of recess…we can retire to the baths for a while and heat out any exhaustion from our journey…”

Although perhaps Nikandros was hoping Damen would refuse and assure him that he was perfectly able to concentrate, the memory of his own marble, perfumed baths of Ios and the prickling feeling of worry over not being able to see his _kallisti_ was enough to have those hopes dashed. Damen stood and smiled wide, feeling his cheek dimple.

“What an excellent idea, Nikandros. I believe that will do us all good.”

However, bathing with the Crown Prince was a little too above these soldiers station---really only lovers with express invitation could share his bath without it being worthy of punishment---so Damen was on his own for the moment. His soldiers would bathe when he was finished. He walked the stone corridors, feeling his curls dampen with the familiar humidity.

Veretians were particular in their own ways.

While public baths in Akielos were often visited by members of both sexes, who were perfectly at liberty to share the same bath, in Vere the springs for women were in another area to preserve their modesty.

As he entered the men’s baths, Damen was a little glad his men had not joined him.

The springs were dug into the ground but surrounded by fine, polished wood floors for patrons to sit when they wished to dry off or chat. There were towels---not very fine ones---small wooden bowls, and thick blocks of white soap stacked on a low shelf. A small window was cut high in the wall so that the room did not become unbearably steamy and oil lamps hung high on the ceiling so they avoided being doused accidentally. It was practically empty.

Damen liked this heat, as it made him instantly bead in sweat, but it did not all come from the heat of the room.

For as he walked in, he immediately was glad he did not have to share this view with anyone. For as he entered he was greeted by an uninterrupted view of Laurent’s fine nape, back, ass, and legs as he scooped up a cupful of hot water and poured it between his shoulder blades. It ran in rivulets down that fine body and hair that looked even more golden when wet. It didn’t seem fair, that such a beauty of a man could also have a body like those fine marble statues in the gardens of Ios.

Damen cleared his throat after the first glance, so that he didn’t appear to have been staring for longer than was appropriate.

Laurent’s reaction was a little extreme. He dropped his wooden cup to the water and spun in dramatics. With one hand he snatched the towel from the wooden floor, pressing it firmly between his legs, heedless of the fact that he was soaking it; with the other he suddenly held his dagger, it appearing as if by magic. Damen had no idea where he’d been hiding it. His face was less of surprise and more of anger, though Damen struggled to keep his eyes on Laurent’s face.

He was…very pink…all over.

Though he did not put away his fang, Laurent uncoiled slightly and did not drop his towel, instead drawing it up higher. He was much like a maiden trying to hide her modesty; it was a bit foolish, as they were both men…

“What are you doing here?” Laurent hissed, taking a half step backwards in the water.

“My apologies,” Damen said lightly, looking toward the towels so that he could focus on something else, “I was under the impression that this was a public bath. I am very fond of them myself.” He leaned down in preparation to unlace his boots, when he saw Laurent take another small half-step back. He had not yet dropped the knife. “Unless…” Damen straightened up without unlacing anything and he kept eye contact with Laurent, “you wish to bathe undisturbed?”

“You prefer to be disturbed while naked?” Laurent asked in what was probably meant to be a rhetorical question.

“It depends by whom,” Damen joked kindly but Laurent did not see his humor. “Though…you don’t have slaves in Arles to assist you in the baths? In Ios, every bath is equipped with them to help with the bathing.”

“In Arles, we are intelligent enough to bathe without help.”

“In Ios, we are wealthy enough to enjoy the help.” Even naked, Laurent shot him a withering gaze. “And you don’t wish for company?” Damen tried one last time.

Laurent was ready and defensive. “I can find company in any room in this inn, though one might doubt the quality. A moment of peace and retrospection is altogether harder to come by.”

“Understood, understood.” Damen laughed, turning away to the door. “I’ll wait for you outside then. Wait my turn,” such a thing had not happened since his military days, “and make sure no one else can disturb your time of retrospection. Acceptable?”

At first Laurent was very still. But then he inclined his head with smooth grace and the knife disappeared. Damen left, not without regret.

Still, he waited patiently outside the door of the men’s bath to make sure no one else could bother Laurent…or get a glimpse of that perfect body. Damen had never seen it’s equal in all his life and he had a feeling the image would torment his dreams for days, weeks to come.

The ladies that walked past him to their bath, oblivious to the possibility that he might speak Veretian, chattered about him as they passed, mostly commenting on his impressive size and how odd it was to see a foreigner so far from the border in early spring. Damen carefully kept his expression smooth, though he wished to laugh.

There was only one other man who sought to enter the baths.

He was one of those sturdy, hardworking types who came equipped with a tankard of ale to drink and his own towel in the most garish print of red and yellow paisley. He also looked surprised to see Damen standing guard, but shrugged it off at first, perhaps chalking it up to the idiosyncrasies of foreigners.

However, when Damen used one arm to block the door, the man looked perturbed.

“The bath is occupied currently.” Damen said in his perfect Veretian before the man could argue with him. The man looked as though an animal had spoken to him when he realized the enormous foreigner could speak Veretian. “I assure you they will be open again within the hour. Unless…you have some quarrel with me?”

The man looked like he wanted to argue again, but he took in the sight and size of Damen. Even though he was a stout fellow, it was readily apparent who would win a ‘quarrel’ should they engage. With a scoff and a dirty look, he turned away without a word.

Other than that, things were quite calm until Laurent emerged, clean and flushed.

He looked quite surprised to see Damen standing guard as well. “You certainly know how to keep a low profile.” He said this, probably in the intent to be sarcastic, but Damen would deny him the satisfaction.

He simply beamed. “Of course, Laurent. You are my _kallisti_.”

“Well…regardless. The bath is yours to use now.” Laurent said dismissively, “I will return to our rooms.” He offered no thanks to Damen for allowing him to bathe first or for keeping watch while he did so. Damen was beginning to realize that it was in his nature to be a little haughty, perhaps a custom unique to Veretian royalty.

“If it suits you, Laurent,” He said before entering the bath himself, “perhaps you could take a look at the map when you return? I’m sure it would be helpful to have a Veretian eye, especially a…person of your standing to help us plot our route for the next few days.”

Laurent looked surprised at his suggestion, one gold eyebrow arching up. “I see.”

He made no further attempts at conversation and it was not long before they parted ways and Damen was able to enjoy the warmth of the natural hot springs. He soaked comfortably and on his own for about a half an hour before feeling his muscles boil into relaxation. The warmth in his hips was a little more due to the memory of a rounded pink ass.

When his hands had fully regained control of his nether regions, he stood and began to leisurely towel the moisture off of his body.

As he had begun to lace himself back into his clothes, Damen’s men entered the bath to see if they could now relieve themselves. He received a much friendlier greeting from them.

“Where is Laurent?” He asked almost immediately.

“He was studying the map as we departed,” Lydos offered, already beginning to tug at the laces on his neck. “He expressed interest in helping us plan our route to the border of Fortaine. He seemed keen to avoid Chastillion but…” Lydos shrugged as if the inner workings of Laurent’s mind were too difficult to even guess at. “We told him he was more than welcome to it.”

Damen nodded in appreciation that Laurent was offering his quick knowledge in one aspect of their journey. “Excellent, I’ll go up to help him momentarily. You’ll find the baths to be quite pleasant and I think the lot of us are going to sleep very well this evening.”

“As good as the baths in Ios?” Aktis teased, tossing his boots carelessly to the side. They all grinned at his ridiculous joke.

“I think you’ll find no beauties other than Pallas to bathe you here.” Damen responded and Pallas grinned and flushed at their laughter. Before Laurent appeared, he had been the most attractive in their group, but to the current company he was nothing more than a beloved and trusted brother. “Although there may be a Veretian man who I chased away earlier who may join you soon.”

“Is he a looker?” Lydos chimed in.

“Depends on what you like to look at.” Damen said.

He continued to chat with his men until he was fully dressed and his men were getting into the baths, their battle-hardened muscles a familiar sight.

By the time he climbed the stairs back to his quarters, it was well into dinner and there was quite a din in the main area. He had to pick his way carefully through tables set close together, as it had been readily apparent earlier the innkeepers’ wife had quite the skill in the kitchen. People tried not to stare but even here he was a giant anomaly in the people’s everyday life.

The noise---now half-courtesy of his own appearance in the main room and speculation on what the hell he was doing there---followed him up the stairs and into the hallway of the second floor.

When Damen pushed on the door to his own quarters, he was surprised to find that it only inched open a crack. It was as if the door was jammed or something was blocking the way. He was thinking of what might have caused such a blockage when a crash echoed from inside the room. Immediately, cold fear took hold.

Perhaps it was just an old, warped door, but Damen remembered Laurent’s concern about large towns.

He was a fiery type, from the South, and almost immediately he felt his dread drowned out by a flood of fury that boiled up from his lungs and chest and took hold of his vision in a blaze of red. He considered no other alternative and would apologize later for breaking the door as he slammed his shoulder into it.

Two strong shoves was all it took to dislodge whatever was keeping the door shut---an overturned chair---and Damen barged into the room, his own dagger drawn.

There was a choking sound.

“I’m afraid that won’t be necessary,” came the smooth voice and Damen had to really concentrate to keep his jaw from dropping open in a most unbecoming look.

The room was in minor disarray, mostly the table and chairs being the only casualties, as they were the only furniture light enough to be moved. The map of Vere had fluttered to the floor but thankfully had avoided the flames of the upset candle. However, the floor had not fared so well and was now covered in a brackish puddle of red wine and melted candle wax. Laurent’s gold-handled dagger was shallowly embedded in one of the floorboards.

Laurent was on one of the beds, flat on his back and breathing a little hard from the physical exertion. There was a cord of leather rope looped loosely around his neck and he looked remarkably at ease for someone with a large figure arched over his body like some nightmarish beast. Though the man above him had Laurent’s left wrist in a vice-like grip, Laurent’s right hand was firmly up against the man’s neck.

Nobody moved.

Then with a sigh of annoyance, Laurent used one long leg to kick the body off of him and it fell to the floor with the dull thud of dead weight. Damen saw first the handle of a crude steel dagger sticking out of the side of the meaty neck in a mortal wound. Then recognition dawned.

It was none other than the Veretian man whom Damen had turned away earlier in the hot springs. It never struck Damen as odd that the man had not reappeared for his bath, but now he realized.

“He was going to murder you in the springs.”

“He mentioned that,” Laurent said with complete unconcern as he sat up, “Though I responded that he’d have not made it out alive himself. I assumed he came to the same conclusion upon seeing you, so he thought I’d be an easier mark when I was alone. You can see how well that theory worked in his favor.”

Damen regained his senses and covered the room in three easy strides, kicking the limp corpse out of his way with a satisfying crunch. “You’re not hurt are you?” His voice was softer than he intended as the fury was being replaced by guilt and relief, “He didn’t hurt you?” With gentle fingers, he unwound the leather cord from Laurent’s fine neck, looking for any bruising. His fingers brushed the expanse and it felt like touching fine, cool silk.

Laurent looked up at him with a mirthless smile. “I believe he is considerably worse for wear.”

“He tried to strangle you?”

“After I stole his knife,” Laurent said with a shrug, “and made several correct guesses as to the size and working order of his cock. I’ve been told several times that I deserve to have my tongue cut out. Probably he wished to shut me up more than collect his reward. _Idiot._ ”

He said all of this with calm disinterest, as if moments before he had not been fighting for his life. He was more than capable of protecting himself at least. But it did not make Damen feel the least bit better.

Wordlessly he retrieved Laurent’s dagger and pressed it into those fine, white hands.

“Laurent of Vere, my _kallisti_. I should have never left you alone. I should have protected you…as is my duty. Please forgive me.” His voice was choked with emotion. He had never felt near-failure so acutely before.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Laurent snapped after a long pause. “I am perfectly capable of dispatching one assassin.”

“Not eight?” Damen asked, feeling safe to look up. He would have assumed Laurent’s high color was due to blush, if the young man had not been flushed most of the waking hours.

“Not when I am drugged and someone else is offering to do it for me.”

“Forgive me.” Damen repeated but he smiled at Laurent’s flippancy in the face of danger. “And I didn’t offer before. As I recall you tried to slice off a part of me I hold very dear. Helping you was a fair enough trade for leaving me intact.”

“Gods alive.” Laurent hissed in annoyance, his cheeks still flushed from the excitement. “Fine, fine. If it makes you let go of me, you oaf, I forgive you for being late. But only…” Laurent glanced over Damen’s shoulder, “if you get rid of the body.”

Damen bit his lip in concern; Nikandros was _not_ going to like this at all.

Laurent finally stood from the bed and gingerly stepped over the dead man to go retrieve the map. “After all, I did the difficult job of killing him. And while I am more than capable of killing men twice my size…lifting them is completely out of my repertoire.”

 

In the end, Damen and his men had to wait until the dead of night to cart the dead assassin down to the baths so that no one would see them. Pallas took the legs, Damen took his torso and Nikandros kept a very careful lookout as he made it _very_ clear he did not want to kill anyone else for quite some time.

“How did His Grace manage to _do_ this?” Pallas asked in disbelief as they tossed the man into the springs with a splash. “He’s so slender…”

“He’s a prince.” Damen said with a shrug, “Of course he’s been trained to fight. Though from what I heard, death was probably a welcome relief after listening to some of those insults His Grace can hurl.”

“ _Please hurry, Exalted One_ ,” Nikandros hissed from where he was stationed in the hall, keeping lookout.

There was some trouble to make it look like a convincing death. At first Damen thought perhaps a drunkard drowning, but the gaping neck wound eliminated that option. Instead Pallas had the ingenious idea: they simply sliced the rest of the neck and left the knife in the man’s limp fingers in a pantomime of suicide. It was a shame that blood was now blossoming in the water…

“He certainly makes a journey…exciting.” Pallas offered as the three of them sneaked through the dark inn back to their rooms. Nikandros looked pained.

 


	4. Chapter 4 (Laurent)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> '4. Sometimes in the spring thaw, male garter snakes release female endorphins so that other male snakes will share body heat.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are you guys reading the little snake factoids up top? If so you might have an idea of which trope I'm going to apply to today's chapter ;)  
> Back to Laurent. God he's so thirsty and I love writing him where Damen defends his honor. Our golden snake is so unused to people protecting him and his perceived virginity; he's touched when Damen does it, I KNOW IT!  
> Also the end of this chapter is me being completely gratuitous. I'm sure if I saw Damen in real life I'd want the exact same thing. Laurent your dreams are coming true and it's DESTINY. Haha Enjoy!

** Chapter 4 (Laurent) **

As they rode through Chasteigne in the end of their first eight days together, Laurent was beginning to get to know the men he was riding with.

Of course he knew the most of Damianos, who chatted his ear off incessantly as they rode together, who always made sure to include him in discussions of strategy and their route to the border, and who was in possession of one of the broadest, warmest chests in four kingdoms. Due to their inability to find him a proper mount, Laurent had embarrassingly found himself nodding off nestled against the Crown Prince’s chest, lulled by the loud, healthy sound of his heartbeat.

Laurent often wished he had a book to distract him, as it would be less difficult to ride when that deep voice tickled the errant strands above his ear, and he often found himself lost in contemplation of the noble---he shook his head violently the moment the adjective came to the forefront of his mind---profile of the Crown Prince of Akielos. Laurent had found, after nearly a fortnight together, that there were many things he found distasteful about Damianos. For example, the man was honorable and accommodating to a fault, fulfilling every one of Laurent’s requests to the best of his abilities, and he smiled entirely too much. His eyes crinkled when he smiled and his left cheek dimpled and…

Laurent immediately pushed Damianos from his mind and took mental note of the others.

The eldest was Nikandros, whose sole job seemed to be keeping Damianos on track, a job Laurent did not envy him. He also spoke Veretian and was keen enough to take Laurent’s advice on the terrain of Vere, but every time Laurent made a ridiculous request or insulted Damianos in some way, he saw Nikandros age by several months. His loyalty to his prince was admirable even if he appeared to only tolerate Laurent.

The last three were younger, around his age and were obviously some of the best soldiers Akielos had to offer.

Pallas was the strongest and the sweetest of the three, always concerned with Laurent’s comfort and in possession of a perpetual, sunny smile. Aktis was the wildest, fiery and talkative; Lydos was stoic, thoughtful, and obedient, willing to follow Damianos and Nikandros off the edge of a cliff.

Despite his best efforts, Laurent found them pleasant enough companions…

When he had been forced to part from his own men to avoid detection, Laurent felt that it was all the better. After all, one man was harder to track than six and Laurent preferred to be on his own anyways, despite the protests of some in his original party. Jord had given him a promise to meet in the abandoned manor and they could travel together to their allies in Vask or to the nation of Patras to beg for military aid but…

After a week of waiting alone in the stone tower for men that never arrived, Laurent had forced to admit to himself that, in all probability, they were dead by the hands of mercenaries or the Veretian army. In one fell swoop, every ally he possessed had been snatched from him and he found himself well and truly alone, just as his uncle had intended. He had mourned for them a moment, but he shed no tears in their memory. Tears and debilitating sorrow were a luxury he could not afford…All he could hope for now was revenge.

And though he felt that these Akielons stuck out with their bulk…it was nice to have companions and something akin to a promise of the future. Of course he would never admit such things aloud.

If Damianos knew how badly he wanted this, how badly he _needed_ this…who knew what Damianos would ask for in return? Laurent felt faintly sick imagining the possibilities.

“Tea?”

Laurent was yanked out of his thoughts by a friendly inquiry from Damianos, who offered a flask alongside his disarming smile. Laurent had seen the Akielons boiling water in the morning to prepare their iron tea, which kept hot for most of the day inside the flask; more importantly, he had seen Damianos drink from it, which meant it would not be poisoned or drugged.

“Thank you.” Laurent replied, accepting the warm canteen and drinking deep. Though the taste was a little bitter, it warmed the pit of his stomach. “Are we to stop in Couleuvre?” From his memory, that was the town closest to the border of Arran and the largest in Chasteigne. It was also far enough south that they would be able to find someone willing to send a message to Akielos.

“We might pass through.” Damianos thought, his faraway look indicating that he was currently remembering the intricacies of the Veretian map. “Is there something you require there?”

Laurent glanced back at him with disdain. “ _You_ require something. You said yourself, we need to send word to your father and to the _kyros_ ,” Laurent fumbled a bit over the difficult pronunciation, “in advance so that preparations can be made. Couleuvre is the place closest to us that can send couriers to Ios.” Damianos’ eyes lit up at the mention of it. “You will need to tell your father you are on your way…and to prepare your army.”

“Of course.” Damen replied easily. More to soothe himself than to remind his Akielon companions, Laurent spoke of ‘his’ army regularly and Damen did not once refute him or evade him with clever words. “A fine idea.”

Laurent ached to roll his eyes. He did not like being patronized.

There was no further conversation until they reached the next town. Nikandros and Damianos spoke rapidly over whether or not to spend the night and Laurent felt that they were a bit softer than they appeared when it came to the snow. This far south, it was barely ankle deep and the river that flowed nearby did not have an inch-thick cover of ice over top. Laurent thought it was a little humorous that these barbarians were so sensitive, especially when their skin felt and smelled like a warm summer day…

Laurent immediately longed to slap himself in the face for his moment of weakness and atoned immediately by shooting down any possibility of them finding a proper horse in this township.

It had nothing to do at all with the fact that Damianos made an excellent heater; nothing at all…

When they approached the local inn to stable the horses, the young lad working there was already pink-cheeked and out of breath, skidding to a halt in the straw when he took in the sight of his newest, enormous clients. Although this area was far enough south to see a few Akielons in the trading months, they were probably rarely of this size and musculature. Taking refuge in Laurent’s more familiar look, the stableboy immediately turned to Laurent for explanation.

“My lord, forgive me,” He gasped, eyes darting to Laurent’s companions, “But our stables are almost full at the moment. If you’ll wait a moment, I can inquire if they can be stabled elsewhere.”

“What’s all this?” Nikandros asked in Akielon; one of the things they insisted on, which Laurent was inclined to agree with, was that they spoke their native language in public so that they could eavesdrop on the locals without suspicion. “No room in the stables in this town?” Damianos nodded sagely. It was odd.

Laurent hailed the flustered stableboy before he could disappear into the inn. “Is there a merchant caravan, this early in the spring?” To do so in the snow would be an enormous risk, but the reward for success would be astonishing.

“No, my lord. There is a small garrison of Veretian soldiers quartered here and each has their own mount.” The boy offered by way of apology.

Laurent felt the cold in his gut and he wished he had control of the reins.

Damianos, however, made no move to escape and began to wonder aloud in Akielon where they would stable their horses otherwise. Laurent stared at him in utter disbelief.

“Are you _mad_?” He finally hissed in Akielon and Nikandros pinched the bridge of his nose. Damianos looked down at him in surprise, almost if he had forgotten Laurent was sitting in front of him. His lashes were very thick…Laurent scowled in response to Damianos’ naïveté and his own weakness. “Do those muscles impede your hearing? Or do you truly wish to see me beheaded in the town square? We cannot stay in this inn while the soldiers of my uncle are quartered here.” Plus the stableboy had seen him. The less witnesses of his presence, the better, for Laurent did not put it past his uncle to torture a young baseborn boy for information.

Damianos looked at him with a mixture of sweetness and determination that made Laurent want to twist in the saddle. “You are my _kallisti_. Be easy; no one will harm you while I am alive. If anything, I can roll you up in my cloak and we can disguise you as a very small carpet.”

Laurent wanted to groan. This man was entirely too confident in himself.

“You are going to kill us all…”

“Lydos,” Damianos ordered without looking behind him; he knew Lydos would be at attention immediately and Laurent felt a small pinprick of jealousy and awe. Ruling seemed to come so easy to Damianos. “You are the only one who has yet to climb to our rooms for the night. You will wait until we give a signal and then come to find us inside. If the layout is difficult, I’ll send Aktis out to instruct you.”

“Understood.” Lydos responded without question.

Laurent on the other hand was considering every possible way this situation could go wrong.

The stableboy could bring out the owner of the inn or---even worse---the soldiers themselves to make room. If they got past the door, then surely one of the men would recognize him on his coloring or his poorly chopped hair. Really, he should have let Damianos cut it but… The Akielons could not very well mow down a group of Veretian soldiers in the middle of an inn; even if they did emerge unscathed, someone would send word to another, larger group of soldiers and they would be intercepted on the road…

All these thoughts raced through Laurent’s mind in the span of a few moments and he struggled to keep his expression smooth as he tried to think of contingency plans for every possible outcome.

A shiver rippled through him as he felt a brush of warm air by his left ear.

“Laurent,” Damianos’ voice was soothing in a way, “I will give you my cloak so that you can hide your hair. Simply move in with Nikandros while I pay, and I swear no harm will come to you.”

Laurent wanted to believe him, but there was a twist of sadness in his belly. He forced himself to glare. “You make it sound incredibly simple.” Damianos shrugged his giant shoulders in response and Laurent laughed without amusement. “Nothing is _ever_ that simple in Vere. You’d do well to remember that.” Damianos nodded, but Laurent wondered if he heard or if Damianos only wished to pacify Laurent. At least he was used to…people not listening to him so it did not sting.

Small blessings, the stableboy returned unaccompanied and biting his lip.

“My lord, I have been instructed to…stable your horses as best I can…” Laurent doubted such diplomatic language had been used, “and you may retire inside for rest and refreshment.” He was nothing but helpful, but he stepped back a pace when Damianos dismounted and tossed him the reins, eyes wide as brass coins.

Damianos paid no attention to the shock of the stableboy, but was more focused on unpinning his cloak and wrapping it deftly around Laurent’s head so that it shielded his hair from view but did not obscure his entire face. He did it so gently, Laurent wondered what would happen if he leaned into that gloved hand…but instead he stepped back.

“Let’s see if your plan works.”

Upon stepping inside the establishment, Laurent realized it was a far cry from what they were used to up until this point. Where their prior stays had been in family-owned taverns, where locals went for conversation and perhaps a drink or two with friends, this inn was…of a seedier variety. It was just a touch too dark inside, as though the windows hadn’t been cleaned properly, and there was the smell of stale pipe smoke and cheap liquor that had soaked into the very wood of the building. More alarming was that all the servers were lithe young men who---while considered plain by the high standards of Arles---were not difficult to look at in these parts and would be willing to sell more than what was served in the kitchen. Currently in the market for such companionship, was a cluster of a dozen Veretian soldiers, ostentatious for the red and yellow-gold starburst uniforms, as they were apparently exempt from traditional mourning dress.

Laurent wanted to bolt at the sight of them. However, this place was the only accommodation in town so…

Laurent stayed half hidden behind Nikandros’ back as Damen was approached by the proprietor, who looked Damen up with one eyebrow raised.

“I was told you were Veretian.” He said; his teeth were nearly brown from his pipe.

“I have the money.” Damianos responded easily, his accent a little harsher than usual. The silver coins clattered on the counter, secretly garnering him the attention of every prostitute in the place.

“I was also told there were six of you.”

Laurent’s heart seized when he thought of Lydos awaiting instruction in the stables. Curse the stableboy and his honesty. Damianos simply narrowed his eyes and tossed out another silver coin.

“My mistake. He’s in the stables. Helping with the horses.”

Appeased, the innkeeper pocketed the silver and gestured with fingers that matched the teeth to a vacant table inside. Unfortunately, it was closer to the Veretian soldiers than Laurent would have liked and he felt eyes on him as they walked past. He took the seat closest to the soldiers so that his back was turned and they could not get a better look at him. In a terse tone, food was ordered and in a gentler tone Aktis was asked to retrieve Lydos from wherever he had found to hide. Any tavern prostitutes not otherwise engaged made polite overtures as they delivered the sausage, potatoes, and ale, and for a moment Laurent thought that perhaps they would actually get away without being noticed by the Veretian soldiers, although his head prickled with the heat of having to wear the cloak inside.

But of course things could never go so smoothly.

As the tavern began to get more raucous with the dinner crowd, Laurent saw Nikandros stiffen and he did so in response. They were close enough to overhear the conversation of the Veretian soldiers, who apparently had not heard Damianos speaking Veretian earlier, as he was the topic of their conversation.

“My god, what are Akielon dogs doing here this time of year?”

Laurent was very glad Pallas, Lydos, and Aktis could not speak Veretian as they would not have borne such an insult sitting down. Even Nikandros looked as though he were about to leap from his chair as he gripped his pewter fork like a dagger. Laurent knew better.

In Vere, you had to bear the insults with a courtly smile and a backbone of iron. If not—if for one moment they saw you shudder, saw you flinch—then it would be torture in store. He could not afford to bring attention to himself. So Laurent did not let it faze him, even as the topic turned from degrading comments about the size, civility, and intelligence of his companions, to what he was doing with them. Their conclusion he did not care for.

“They’ve got a Veretian boy with them, did you see him?” Their whisper was not particularly good, as Laurent still heard it above the din. “Why do you suppose he’s with them?”

“Look at his face. I’d fuck it in a heartbeat.” Another supplied lewdly and Laurent thought that it would be an excellent way to lose a cock. “You can best believe that bitch is some slave or pet that’s spreading for those brutes.” Laurent calmly took a bite of potatoes; they tasted like nothing. “Must have spent a goddamn fortune on him if he’s covered up like that.” Laurent was glad for the heat of the cloak because he could blame the blush on his cheeks on that.

“Pity we’re selling such pretty faces for foreign bastards. Should ask him if he fancies a lay with his own countrymen.” Nikandros shot a swift, anxious glance over at Damianos, whom Laurent surmised had finally been able to overhear bits of the conversation.

“I bet he cries when you take him.” Laurent was stone; cold, unfeeling stone.

Another soldier laughed derisively. “Have you seen the size of those Akielon men? They must have cocks like horses. I bet they take him one right after the other. I bet his hole is loose as a—.”

There was a crack that startled nearly everyone to silence and only years of careful self-control kept Laurent from jolting in his chair. Only Damianos was not looking around but was staring at the Veretian soldiers with a look that stirred something breathless and primeval in Laurent’s stomach. But no one could seem to find the source of the sound so the tavern lapsed back into a hesitant chatter. Luckily, the serving boys appeared to distract the soldiers and Laurent and his companions could finish eating their tasteless food in silence.

The moment Laurent finished eating, Damianos stood to further shield Laurent from prying eyes. He wanted to be angry at the gesture, but more than anything he was tired and ready to get away from prying eyes. That had been one of his oases in Arles: the point in time where the door would close and he could lower his façade, if only for a moment. Even now, he could not relax completely.

Their room was not much better than the tavern below.

Scuffed wooden floors and equally battered wooden furniture with candle wax melted directly onto the writing table. A tiny fireplace that was more soot than anything else. A line of beds that were probably infested with bedbugs during the summer.

The moment the door was shut behind them, Damianos sank on his knees to the filthy floor, head bowed. Laurent ignored the bow but noticed that Damianos tossed aside two chunks of wood. They looked suspiciously like the shattered arms of the chairs in the dining hall below, as if something or someone with brute strength had snapped them clean off the chair. That explained the crack from before.

“If decorum had permitted,” Damianos’ voice was thick with emotion, another trait Laurent found distasteful, “if we were in Akielos---.”

Laurent interrupted as he unwound the cloak from his head, gold floating down around his face. “But we are not in Akielos; we are in Vere and we cannot make a habit of killing men in every city we visit. So bear their jabs against you with dignity and---.”

Now it was Laurent’s turn to be interrupted, which also didn’t happen often.

But Damianos’ method was very effective. He shot to his feet at astonishing speed for someone his height and clasped Laurent’s hands before Laurent could move. Up this close---too close---Laurent’s head only reached the middle of Damianos’ chest and when he looked up Damianos’ head was bent down so that their heads…their lips were mere inches apart. Laurent hardly dared to breathe. He was transfixed by the burning, the passion in Damianos’ eyes.

“The jabs against me? Against _me_? As if my superior height and size, as if the country of my birth are points of shame. No, I don’t care what insult they level against me. But you…” Damianos looked filled with fury and that primitive spot in Laurent stirred again, “The foul way they debased you. The crude way they spoke of your body. Your Grace, if you so much as spoke the word…If the order came from your lips,” Damianos’ eyes flicked down to Laurent’s lips and Laurent felt them burn under the attention, “I would have cut out their tongues without a second thought. After they begged your pardon.”

Laurent felt a bit dizzy. He could not tear his eyes away from this fiery protectiveness etched in Damianos’ handsome face. For a brief, horrifying, moment he almost wished the distance was gone and he could taste some of that heat. It would taste like pomegranate…cinnamon…cocoa laced with chili powder…he could _taste_ it in the air overcome with Damianos’ breath and he felt himself leaning closer…

The sound of heavy boots on the outside stairwell jerked Laurent’s mind back to defense and he moved back. Damianos let him go. _Blasted chalis_.

“This is as much my journey as yours. And I intend to see it to the end.” Laurent sounded breathless and flustered as he took in fresh air. “And I will not be responsible for inciting tavern brawls over my perceived chastity. Is that clear?”

Damianos inclined his head in acceptance as his men joined them. Nikandros just looked pleased to see Damianos’ sword was still sheathed. Laurent began to irritably pull at his laces; even in the dead of winter, it was too goddamn hot all the time.

“I am going to sleep.” He announced taking one of the better beds. It was more of a warning to the others to keep the noise to a minimum. “Those soldiers are going to be drinking and whoring so much this evening, we should be awake tomorrow before they even realize they have a hangover.”

Nikandros grudgingly admitted that it did sound probable and Damianos gave the order.

Laurent curled up under his covers as the candles were snuffed and warred with himself a long time to get that imaginary spicy smell out of his nostrils. It kept him from dwelling on the fact that only one other person had ever fiercely defended his honor in such a way. And that _chalis_ stayed in the bloodstream no longer than 48 hours…

 

The Akielons did wake up before dawn, though Laurent had arisen a little before that and slipped down to the stables to prepare…just in case. He could not wait to be free of this inn and not having to wear the blasted cloak around his head the entire time. He had to wrap it several times to keep it from dragging on the ground---curse Damianos for his blasted height---and though he thought of doing so just to be contrary, it would be a waste of a very fine weave…

No one seemed to notice that he had gone off to the stables although some questioning looks were shot his direction when they arrived at the stables and found their horses already saddled. Laurent could always blame it on the stableboy.

They rode off as the sun was beginning to rise and after the first half hour of riding alongside the river Laurent actually felt safe enough to take his hand off of his dagger. His companions showed none of his concern and he actually envied them their carefree joy as they rode for home. _Home_ …

The only home he cared for was in an embrace that did not exist anymore.

Laurent was yanked out of that pit when he heard the sound of distant hoof beats and a shout in Akielon: “Nikandros! Exalted One! At the rear!”

Annoyance at his own relaxation bubbled; he gripped his dagger and remembered that he could not for one moment feel safe in the borders of Vere, even if Damianos did hold him very tightly in response. The horse spun around easily in the snow and Laurent was greeted by the sight of a dozen Veretian soldiers on horseback riding down the embankment after them.

The edge of Damianos’ cloak was tossed unceremoniously over his head, and Laurent was glad that he had not tarnished the hem earlier. There were more pressing matters at hand.

All the Akielons were very still, probably thanks to the elegant Veretian crossbows strapped to the saddles of the horses. A horse was easy to outrun, not so a crossbow bolt. The men riding the horses did not look worse for wear either and Laurent could immediately smell a fight in imminent future.

“Halt!” The captain of the garrison called, hands on the butt of his crossbow as his men made a half circle around the Akielons.

“Maybe it’s a border patrol.” Nikandros murmured hopefully and Damianos gripped the reins tighter.

Laurent longed to scoff at their hope. They were thirty minutes from the town, completely isolated and surrounded. This wasn’t a head start; this was a fight in the making. Damianos must have felt that too, because Laurent saw one hand leave the reins and settle on the hilt of his sword although his smile seemed genuine enough to the unpracticed eye.

“You men there. You Akielons!” The captain shouted edging his horse a little closer and shouting as though elevated volume would make up for lack of fluency. “We have some questions for you. Do you speak Veretian? Or…will your pet need to translate?”

“I can speak Veretian.” Damianos responded smoothly and Laurent wanted to laugh at some of the soldiers’ expressions upon realizing he had been able to understand them the night before. “And he is not my pet. He is my traveling companion. You can address any concerns to me.”

“Very well. We’ve been sent to this area in the investigation of a string of murders, starting in the north and working south. Did you and your men stay in the towns of---“ Laurent tensed when he listed the two places where they had indeed killed men who had tried to kill him, “in the past fortnight?”

“No.” Damianos lied smoothly.

The captain did not look convinced. “What is your purpose in Vere?”

“We came to escort my companion to Akielos for the spring and summer. His family owns a villa in Sicyon.”

“Bodyguards, eh? And why does…a Veretian man require five Akielon bodyguards?”

“The son of a merchant.” Damianos shot back.

“Named?”

“We are not at liberty to say.” His horse reacted to the tense atmosphere by prancing in place. “If you have any further questions about his heritage, I suggest you take it up with the kyros of Sicyon.”

The captain kneed his horse closer until he was close enough to get a good look at Laurent. Laurent traced the familiar scales in the handle of the dagger. “You. You are a loyal subject of the Veretian royal family,” _You have no idea_ , Laurent thought to himself, “As a member of the royal guard, I demand you to state you name and…wait a minute. Why is your hair covered?” Laurent just leveled him with a stare and he didn’t seem to like that. “Uncover your hair. Immediately.”

“He’ll do no such thing.” Damianos responded and his tone was very dangerous.

And _there_ came the crossbows. Laurent suddenly found five out of ten bolts trained on his chest. Damianos’ arm crossed over Laurent’s heart in protection. It was actually…touching.

“Uncover your head! _Immediately_!”

They would know who he was the moment they saw his hair. But he saw no other alternative. With a sigh, Laurent pulled Damen’s cloak from his head and gold floated down around his eyes. He heard the gasps.

“Your Highness!” The captain was aghast. “You’re supposed to be dead! You---you were kidnapped by the Akielons? Come down immediately! We must get you out of here. Back to Arles.” Laurent closed his eyes. “His M---the Regent will be so pleased that you’re safe.” _Liar_. “Come with us now.”

“No.” Laurent hissed.

“Your Highn---.”

“He’s not coming with you!” Damianos growled and his arm pushed Laurent so that he was pressed firm against Damianos’ chest. The captain’s look darkened instantly. “You’ll not lay a hand on him while I live.”

“Then we have no option but to remove you to Arles by force.” The captain moved his horse back a few paces and withdrew his sword in a hiss of steel. “Fire on the Akielon dogs! Make sure to take the prince alive!”

Damianos and his men had drawn their swords in response, but they could hardly hope to slice an arrow out of the air.

But there was music in Laurent’s ears. The sound of a broken lute string or the twang of an un-tuned fiddle but it wasn’t an instrument. Instead, in a domino effect of hilarity, each and every bowstring on each and every crossbow snapped, rendering it useless. Laurent allowed himself a small grin; it was nothing more than sawing each string close enough that any tension could break it…the idiots shouldn’t have left them in the stables to begin with…

With playing field leveled, the clearing burst into an explosion of activity.

It was too much to maneuver the horses in the clearing and soon all the men were on their feet, fighting in the snow. In a way it was kind of nice, to be sparring again, to have the feeling of that fight that had dogged him every moment of his life. He ducked under one of wild swings; _use your speed_ , he remembered his sword master saying, _your speed is your greatest strength. The larger opponent will underestimate you. Use that against him_.

Like dancing, Laurent’s hand passed gracefully and his fang sank into a soldier’s throat. Blood dripped into the snow. When he gained his bearings Damianos was looking at him in amazement.

“Imagine what I could do with a sword.” Laurent responded and Damianos had the grace to laugh.

Laurent looked around for a new opponent and happened to see Pallas fighting three men by the edge of the river. Unused to fighting in the slick snow, Pallas’ boots slipped and he fell to his knees. Laurent reacted viscerally.

Taking off at a run, Laurent zeroed in on the soldier going for Pallas’ back, arm drawn back for a killing blow. It was not an ideal shot; he would need enough force to crush the dagger through the ribcage. He braced the dagger with both hands against his chest and used his entire body as weight, slamming into the soldier. They fell---thankfully away from Pallas---into the freezing river.

The cold water was like a shock to his system as he plunged beneath the surface and he could not help but gasp at the pain of it. Like needles, like being punched in the lungs the cold enveloped him and made his body feel like a shriveled leaf.

Just on instinct, he breached the surface, taking in an equally cold gasp of air.

“Damia---!”

The Veretian fabric was heavy when wet and the blow had not been a killing one so Laurent sank back beneath the surface as the bleeding soldier tried to use Laurent as a ladder to scramble out. Now it was only about survival.

Laurent forced himself to focus, despite his lack of air and shoved the knife forward. The Veretian soldier stopped moving. With that obstacle out of his way Laurent reached out his arms trying to grasp the riverbank. Don’t panic. Don’t panic. It was hard to fight his mind on this when he couldn’t breathe. _Don’t panic_.

The river was sweeping him downstream. His fingers felt like they were going to fall off.

There was a splash near his right ear and strong arms looped under his armpits, wrenching him out of the river. Laurent gasped as his head breached and his fingernails dug into whoever was holding him.

“Your G-Grace! _Kallisti_!” It was Pallas, now equally soaked as he was kneeling in the snow, his upper half completely doused. The snow Pallas dragged him into was pink and red. “Y-Y-You s-saved my life.”

Laurent’s body was shuddering as much as Pallas’ tongue, but he managed to keep his voice level. “Think nothing of it. We have more pressing matters than your gratitude.”

Or not.

During Laurent’s brief swim, Pallas had managed to dispatch his other two attackers and his other Akielon companions had made quick work of the others. _Vere’s finest_. Damianos was striding toward them now, a thunderous look on his face.

“I see you’ve met my loyal soldiers.” Laurent said to him. He would stand but he and Pallas were shaking too badly, their muscles desperately trying to heat up their bodies. “If you wish to wash the blood off of you, I’d not recommend doing so here. It’s a bit cold for you southerners.”

“We need to leave.” Damianos ordered, looking at him with something akin to horror.

“How very astute of you.” Laurent said. “Help Pallas up. He’s shaking.”

Nikandros came to help Pallas up, wrapping him in one of the cloaks of the dead soldiers. Damianos did the same for Laurent and Laurent would have pushed him away if his legs weren’t locked and frozen. Damianos half dragged him across the blood-soaked clearing.

“Should we take one of the horses for His Grace?” Lydos asked reasonably. They were incomparably finer than any other horse they had come across in their travels and Damianos considered it.

“No.” Laurent gasped. “They’re branded. The horseshoes too. They can trace us. Leave the horses.”

Damianos nodded as he swung himself up onto the saddle. “Leave them. We need to move.” When Laurent could not find the strength to lift his leg, Damianos leaned over with ease and hoisted him up by the waist. He was so warm it hurt. “We need to find shelter.” He began to turn his horse back toward the inn and Laurent stopped him.

“No.” His voice sounded incredibly weak to his own ears. “We can’t go back to the inn. Too dangerous. We move forward.”

“Laurent,” Damianos murmured, sounding a little afraid. “You’re too cold. We need to find shelter…” Pallas’ dark lips were purple so Laurent knew he must have been positively blue.

“I agree. So move forward.” Laurent ordered with a small laugh. “They’ve been trying to kill me for years. I’ll not succumb to a little cold.”

They moved forward.

 

Laurent could not longer speak he was so cold. His body was made of ice, his hair was frozen stiff, and he could not even feel his fingers and toes. Pallas’ hands must have been rigid around the reins and he did not have the advantage of an enormous Prince as a body heater.

Laurent knew of hypothermia.

He knew that the best prevention was by removing the wet clothes immediately and finding the closest source of heat along with several dry blankets. It was not best cured by riding hard in wet clothes through a snowy forest.

He gravitated to the only source of heat available.

It felt like hours when Laurent heard the shout from Lydos, though it had probably been less than a half hour. The lightest and the fastest of the Akielons, he had ridden ahead as the scout. Laurent heard Damianos’ heart skip a beat at the sound.

“Exalted One! Nikandros! There’s a house up ahead! A farm! Ten minutes ride to the southeast!”

Damianos spurred his horse on faster and Laurent began to think. His brain was slow, thick like syrup but he had to plan…Break into the barn, open it from the inside, hide the horses…they’d have to obscure the tracks if there was not more snowfall that night… His head bounced uselessly on Damianos’ chest.

Of course the Akielons were not so safe.

Nikandros was tasked with pounding on the door of the home and explaining why five enormous Akielons and a half frozen Veretian man were standing outside their home begging entrance. At least they had the damn common sense to cover up the bloodstains on their clothes.

The middle-aged farmer’s wife held her shock in check as she regarded the semi-frozen state of Pallas and Laurent.

“Please, madam.” Nikandros explained. “We were lost and my companions’ horse turned its’ leg in the river.” At least he was a better liar than Damianos and it explained why Laurent was riding double. “All we beg is shelter for the evening. Please. We are even willing to pa---.”

She waved that notion aside without further comment and showed them to the barn, explaining it would be the only place large enough for the six of them. Laurent focused on staying awake. Lydos took command of the horses while the lady of the house and her confused husband brought out a wood-burning brazier that the lot of them could huddle around, which she explained to Nikandros. Aktis was helping Pallas: undoing frozen laces with nimble fingers and tossing the sopping garments over any available flat surface. It looked like it was taking all of Pallas’ strength to merely stand.

Damianos supported Laurent’s back with one arm as they dismounted and hastily called out for instruction. “How can we give these men their heat back?”

The couple looked at Laurent and must not have liked what they saw. But their suggestion only made him feel worse.

“Strip off the wet clothes and share the blankets. The best way is for all of you to do so as we only have a few extra.” These were poor people so Laurent did not begrudge them but he panicked at the thought of sharing a blanket unclothed.

“Must he also?” Laurent asked.

The woman motioned to Damianos’ front, which was drenched from Laurent, and the fire, which had just started. “Sir, it’s not hot enough yet. Maybe in an hour but now…no. Even if his clothes weren’t wet, it would keep the heat and not give it to you.” Laurent felt a little ill under the cold and tired. “He’s big. You’ll heat up quickly. For you,” She turned to Pallas, “one on each side. You have a larger body.” Pallas smiled with the sweetness of not being able to understand, despite his trembling.

Pallas and the other Akielons stripped down with complete unconcern but Laurent balked immediately when Damianos offered to help him with his jacket. The thought of being naked around these men was horrifying and it must have shown on his face. Laurent felt a twinge of guilt when Damianos looked concerned.

“I _can’t_.” Laurent clutched the knot on his laces with shaking knuckles. “I can’t be…with you—.”

“You would prefer Nikandros?” Damianos offered kindly.

“I would prefer no one.” Laurent felt his teeth chatter so hard he thought they would crack; it was foolish and he knew it but…the thought of being touched was…terrifying. Part of him would honestly rather freeze to death. _He felt cold hands tracing lines over his skin…_

Pallas, Aktis and Lydos were already curled up together under one of the horse blankets.

Damianos reached out both of his hands and took Laurent’s in his own. It was almost painful how warm they were. In his dark eyes was a look of utter sincerity. “Laurent…please bear with this for only an hour or so. It will be hard to run your countrymen through with that silver needle if your fingers fall off. Also it will deprive you of using these ones; surely you’d perish otherwise.” He tapped on both of Laurent’s middle fingers and Laurent marveled at his ability to make a joke in this situation. When he still balked, Damianos tried again. “ _Kallisti_ …you are freezing…”

Fighting against every instinct in his body, Laurent turned his back to Damianos and began to rip at his laces until his wet clothes fell around his feet and he was completely naked. At least no one was looking at him…

He flinched infinitesimally as a spare blanket was tossed around his shoulders and it settled heavily there as Prince Damianos began to disrobe. Laurent refused to let himself look.

He was promising himself to remain rigid, to stare at the wood grain of the stable doors or count the pieces of hay scattered on the floor but then…

Warm arms wrapped around him and his body’s need for heat was so intense that it overruled all of his careful planning. In some rare cases, nature beat his iron will. And he turned so that he was pressed hard into a dark chest, beautifully muscled, and radiating more heat than he would have thought possible for a human being to emit. Warm hands cupped his back and wrapped the blanket around his body as they were lowered to the floor by the brazier. As he thawed out, Laurent embarrassingly felt his limbs go limp and his head lolled.

It was an unusual thing he felt…almost like…

Laurent fell asleep before he could name the unusual thing he felt. His mouth was hot and dry with the taste of cinnamon and pomegranate, chocolate and chili.

 


	5. Chapter 5 (Damianos)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> '5. Sea snakes are one of the few snakes who work in groups; mostly for hunting.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hehehehe everyone is all nice and warm now after their brief swim ;) And now Damen has some fond memories to think on as they ride through the forest! I hope you guys caught the 'brumation' hint from up top before you read. Our snakes had to curl up together to fight off the cold and I ignored the cheesiness of the whole situation because I wanted such an event to happen (as improbable as it would be)!  
> And Laurent gets a chance to be sneaky in the city of Couleuvre. What is he up to? And he gets to play some card games too! When Cannedebonbon first read this chapter she asked if Laurent looked like a babushka with his scarf and the answer is yes. 100%. Russian grandma Laurent AU haha!  
> And a surprise at the end! Next chapter will be wild! Enjoy!

** Chapter 5 (Damianos) **

Damen made sure to leave the two most deserving people in all of Vere a bit of gold as thanks before they left. They asked no questions but provided their guests food and shelter in the two days that they remained in their kindness, attempting to fight back the cold and sickness. It was nothing short of a miracle that Pallas and Laurent had managed to retain all of their appendages after the two cold nights sleeping in the barn. Aktis and Lydos took turns with Nikandros to heat Pallas, while the task of heating Laurent fell solely on Damen’s shoulders.

It was a waste of two days but at least it had given Damen plenty of time to exercise his exemplary self-control.

Even now, he remembered how smooth and cool Laurent’s body had been against his, how desperately they clung together in the simple act of searching for warmth, and how nice that body had felt in his arms. Even now he ached to run his lips down the curves of what he had only felt in the darkness; Laurent looked no less formidable though, so Damen held himself back and simply contented himself with friendly conversation on their way to Couleuvre.

“We might be able to find a mount for you in the town, Laurent.”

He said this not without regret, as he had become quite accustomed to having that slender form up against him. Laurent was pink cheeked as he considered Damen’s statement and their list of things to do in Couleuvre.

“Thank god. I was afraid your poor horsemanship was going to start rubbing off on me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of rubbing off on you.” Laurent caught the sound of a joke in his voice, but Damen was willing to bet someone as controlled and cold as Laurent wouldn’t understand the lewd joke. “You enjoy horseback riding?”

Laurent had said scant little about his life in Vere and Damen had spent many fruitless hours trying to coax out a detail or two. Laurent, on the other hand, had been treated to constant talk of Akielos and its’ charms. In this instance he was very diplomatic and asked a question or two—oddly it was mostly about the clothes people wore in Ios—but never did he give away anything about his own past. In a way it made him even more irresistible in Damen’s eyes.

“I do.” Laurent admitted after a long pause. “I’m the best rider in Arles.”

“The most humble as well?” Damen joked and saw something like a smile flit across Laurent’s features.

“I am…not overtly fond of the people in Arles at the moment, seeing as how at least half would love to see me dead. Horses are a nice escape. At least they don’t pester me with relentless questions and my bro---.” Laurent’s words tapered off and he clammed up after his own boldness. Damen wanted to push a little to see what Laurent would say next.

“Did your brother ride with you? My brother was never overly fond of riding himself.”

“My brother used to be the best rider in Arles,” Laurent said softly, “he bought me my horses and taught me to ride. In a way…riding is the way I feel closest to him. And it pains me not to have my own mount.”

Ah, so here was a small tidbit: this Laurent loved his brother.

“I am sure he would be proud of your successes.” Damen assured, remembering that Laurent’s brother and father had died on the very same day. It was not exactly the way he had hoped the conversation would go.

“Yes, my many successes.” Laurent sighed sarcastically, gesturing around him. “I am running for my life out of my own country, hunted by my own men, and the only way to reclaim my birthright is to accompany foreigners into the great unknown. Yes, I’m sure my brother’s soul is resting easy upon seeing me in such a situation.” Damen could sense the self-deprecation in his tone and was a little upset that anyone would speak poorly of his _kallisti_.

“When you have been crowned King of Vere,” Damen leaned close, “I will pay my respects at the tomb of your brother and tell his soul to rejoice, for he has a fine brother and an even finer king ruling in his stead.”

It seemed to be the right thing to say.

Laurent looked away but his ears were positively crimson and he seemed at a loss for words. “It is far too early for hope.”

“I’ve learned my lesson with the soliders,” Damen promised in reply. He had not so easily forgotten the sound of his name being called over the sound of fighting and rushing water, nor the sheer panic he had felt in that moment. “And surely you must have some ambition or you wouldn’t have traveled so far with us.”

“Don’t speak of my brother again.” Laurent responded, which Damen took to mean he could not find an appropriate counterpoint.

“Understood.” Silence a bit longer and Damen felt safe enough to hazard another question. “Tell me of your education, Laurent. I see you studied language to some extent…and the blade. What was your joy in studies?”

“All things.” Laurent admitted. “I was full prepared to be the right hand of my brother upon his coronation. So, I studied relentlessly to be of use to him. After…I realized I would have to be king—despite my uncle’s best efforts—and so I continued my studies and even took up sword fighting.”

“You did not study beforehand?” Damen was baffled; first, of all he and Kastor had been practicing swordplay since he had been old enough to stand and second, Laurent fought with as much skill and grace as though he had been born with a dagger in his hand. It was difficult to focus on who he was fighting when he could watch Laurent weave in and out with the effortless grace of a dancer, gold dodging slices of silver.

“No one was trying to kill me until then. And I want no one to…have me on my back.”

The thought of Laurent on his back was scintillating, but Damen focused on the prior sentence.

At first he had been a little incredulous at the thought that Laurent would be hunted to such an extent. But after seeing Veretian soldiers actively trying to kill him, Damen was forced to admit that Laurent had been right to be so on edge and Damen had been a fool for not believing him sooner. He learned his lesson and would not soon repeat it.

“I see. Hopefully in Couleuvre we can find you a proper sword and then you can show me your true skills.”

Laurent sat up straighter at the subtle jab. “Funny. I would have thought that I held my own amongst you warring barbarians with little more than a toothpick. But by all means, give me a full sized sword.”

“The Veretian army will tremble.” Damen remarked.

“Once I am back in control, I will give them good reason to.” Laurent hissed in response, his voice full of venom. Damen wondered what it would be like to hear that voice in the throes of sweetness…

“Speaking of soldiers,” Damen brought up a topic that had been nagging at him since their fight three days ago, “I find it an unlikely coincidence or a poor reflection on Veretian craftsmen that all of those crossbows happened to break at the same time. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that would you?”

Laurent gave a small wicked smile but admitted nothing.

“I don’t see why you didn’t just cut the straps of the saddle.” Damen responded, a little awed by Laurent’s foresight. He had _known_ that those Veretian soldiers were going to follow them, but why hadn’t he made it impossible for them to follow in the first place.

Laurent glanced at him and the expression was unreadable, if a little judgmental. “For a warring prince, you certainly don’t seem to consider the collateral damage in response of your actions. If those soldiers had seen their saddles damaged or swords stolen then the stableboy would have been blamed and punished.” Laurent shook his head and the uneven blond strands caught the light, “His life, to them, would have been worth less than the cost of the damage. Such is the way in Vere and so…”

Damen was overcome.

His _kallisti_ was clever and noble; he possessed the foresight of a general when it came to future battles and the gentleness and care for his subjects that would make him beloved by his people. What the Veretians saw in their prince mattered little to him. His opinions were concrete and Laurent was not so selfish as he let on.

“Truly, you are worth the title of ‘prince’.” Damen said, after a long pause, and never had words been spoken so truly. Laurent inclined his head in thanks but did not look back.

Damen hoped he understood and accepted the praise, though Laurent made no further attempts at conversation on their ride.

Couleuvre was at the border of Chasteigne and Arran, had less than an inch of snow on the groundd, and it was the largest town by far that they had stayed in, boasting three taverns, at least four inns, a daily market even in the winter and a relatively healthy familiarity with Akielons and Vaskians. None of the locals stared as they had further north but Damen had not soon forgotten Laurent’s dislike of larger towns. Damen had arranged his cloak so that only someone directly next to Damen’s knee could see the blond prince hidden within.

After finding the emptiest inn in the town, inquiring as to the closest blacksmith, horse breeder, and messenger who would go as far south as Ios, as well as finding a suitable wrap to shield Laurent’s hair from view, Damen and his men got to work with running their errands in the city.

Though he was reluctant to part from Laurent, Laurent insisted to go on his own to purchase a blade while Damen would find him a horse.

“I will be fine.” Laurent insisted, his blue eyes hard in a look that proclaimed he was not going to budge from his decision, woe to the person who tried to talk him out of it. “If anyone seeks to ambush me, then at least I will have a sharp blade in my hand. If you need someone to appear late to watch me kick the bodies aside, I’ll take Pallas and Aktis with me to the blacksmith.”

He said this last part in Akielon and Pallas was by his side in a moment, still overcome by Laurent’s brave defense of him in the snowy clearing. He would follow Laurent to hell now, if Laurent asked him.

Laurent crossed his arms defensively in preparation for a fight.

Damen just smiled. He was in no position to engage in a battle of words with someone so determined and besides…Laurent could handle himself in battle. “Ok, ok. Go on then and meet us at messengers’ post on the south side of town. If you’re past sunset, then meet back at the inn.”

“Understood.” Laurent responded in a cool flush of victory and he strode off with Pallas and Aktis at his heels. Damen watched him go until he was out of sight.

“Exalted One,” Damen wanted to sigh at Nikandros’ all-too-familiar and favorite tone, “I have some concerns about him.”

“Indulge me while we ride.” Damen responded as he swung himself up onto his saddle. It felt strangely empty with the absence of Laurent’s soft bum crushed up against him. He supposed he would have to get used to the sensation now that they were off to purchase Laurent a horse.

Nikandros rode abreast of him almost immediately to air his grievances, “You do realize that His Grace asked specifically for Pallas and Aktis because they cannot speak Veretian? Who knows what he is going to do aside from buying a blade. You should have let me go with him at least to see if---.”

“To see if what?” Damen asked. “If he would betray me? Who would he betray me to? His own men are trying to kill him; you’ve seen that. Have a little faith in him Nikandros. Pallas and Aktis are not fools and, as always, your advice is soundly appreciated.”

“He is too crafty for my liking.” Nikandros grumbled when he could not find another argument compelling enough to make Damen turn around and chase after him.

“I rather like that about him.”

“That’s what worries me.” Nikandros replied under his breath and Lydos smiled when he thought Damen wasn’t paying attention. Damen didn’t mind; Nikandros had not much cared for his misadventures in the past either. Nikandros kept any further opinions to himself.

When they reached the town’s horse stables, Damen was brimming with excitement that only purchasing a gift could bring about.

The stable master looked surprised to see three Akielons stride through his door in demands of a horse, but his surprise was held in check when Damen gave the order and Nikandros forked over enough gold to buy at least five of the finest horses he had in stock. Then, he was more than accommodating.

For the most part, Damen ignored his friendly suggestions as to the horses that would suit him best and instead looked for one that would suit Laurent: lean, fast, and graceful. He found one—a lovely palomino—in one of the middle stalls that would suit Laurent, though her eyes were much less intense by comparison. Damen was not at all upset to part with his gold when he imagined how joyful Laurent would be when he finally received a horse of his own.

Lydos bridled and saddled her and her lead was attached to Damen’s pommel so that they could lead her along the winding streets to the local messenger outpost.

After tying up their horses outside the building, Damen was pleasantly surprised to find Laurent, Pallas, and Aktis already waiting inside, Laurent putting the finishing touches on one letter and everyone inside looking at him with something akin to awe.

“You didn’t find a sword that suited you?” Damen asked kindly and Laurent waited until he had signed and sealed his final envelope before looking up at Damen.

“Did you expect me to be brandishing it in an outpost?” Laurent replied in his typical saucy manner. In one smooth motion he pushed his cloak aside, showcasing the hilt of a sword that looked to have the same scale-pattern as his dagger. His smile was angelic with the thought of a new jab. “By the same token…did you find me a horse? Since I cannot directly see it, I’d be forced to assume that you failed or that you have a very tiny horse and a very giant body.”

“I’m so glad you notice my body.” Damen responded and he could practically feel Nikandros’ withering gaze, “But your horse is bought and bridled outside. In return, I’d like the use of that quill please.”

Laurent had the grace to look pleased at Damen’s success and handed over the quill to busy himself with the sealing wax. Damen half-watched him as he wrote his own letter to his father.

Laurent chose the blue wax of Vere for his first letter and pulled a thick gold ring out of one of his pockets to stamp them with. A blot of ink accidentally fell on Damen’s own letter as he saw the starbursts of Vere imprinted onto the drying dark blue wax. So it appeared he had managed to keep his golden dagger and his signet ring for these kinds of occasions; Damen was impressed with his foresight.

Laurent neatly picked up a second and third piece of paper and Damen wondered how many letters he was intending to write. But Laurent did not begin writing immediately. Instead, he wandered to where Damen was writing and began to watch intently.

“Your handwriting is atrocious for a Prince.” He remarked.

“I was distracted.” Damen admitted and finished the rest of his letter. Laurent started on his third as Damen reread his letter and sealed it with wax; his seal was kept on a thin cord around his neck and featured the profile of a regal royal lion, the symbol of the royal blood of Akielos. This seal would ensure the letter would arrive safe and unopened into the hands of his father.

The Akielon messenger noticed the seal and his face had gone utterly white in recognition. He refused to look up at Damen’s face when accepting the letter and his hands trembled as he took the letter.

“My good man,” Damen said, clasping him by the shoulder, “make sure this reaches my father as fast as you can get it there.”

The messenger was about to respond when Laurent cut in.

“This as well.” He ordered, forcing his blue sealed envelope onto the Akielon messenger. “To the same man.”

Without looking to see if his orders were obeyed, Laurent went to seal his final letters dripping on the bloody crimson color that was more favored in Akielos. However, he did not use his own signet ring to seal them. Instead, he extended his hand expectantly towards Damen.

“May I help you?” Damen asked.

“Your seal please.” Laurent said. “Quickly.” He offered no further explanation and—despite Nikandros’ obvious discomfort with the whole idea—gave his own seal over for Laurent’s use. Laurent pressed it into the warm red wax and handed it back without elaboration.

“I have some concerns,” Nikandros hissed as Laurent handed the letters to a messenger going back into the heart of Vere.

Damen ignored it and they finished their business in the messengers’ outpost.

The price of the horse was more than worth the sight of Laurent’s bright blue eyes glittering with joy, his small smile as he pressed his forehead against the velvety beige snout and had his straw-colored hair sniffed in response when he uncovered his head. He offered no thanks, but Damen could sense that he was pleased by Damen’s choice and took extra care with her when they returned to the inn and stabled the horses. He only looked annoyed when he was forced to cover his hair again.

Damen helped him re-tie the scarf in a way that was more flattering and did come constantly unwound, though it did make him look like one of those elderly Akielon women in the plazas of Ios.

Laurent did not seem to appreciate the comparison when Damen told him.

“Who did you write to?” Damen asked in Veretian as the group prepared to enter the inn. Laurent tucked the scarf closer around his face but he could not completely hide his smile.

“Allow an old lady her secrets.”

The main area of the inn, which also served as a small alehouse, was half-filled with scruffy bearded men who had probably come the heavy forests closer to Lys, but they seemed to be a more genial type than the men at the previous inn. If they were so close to the borders of Vask then they were probably much more respectful in their conversations, as the women of Vask did not especially care for lewd musings in any language. At least this was his assumption as they greeted his group with raised tankards and a broken greeting in Akielon.

Pallas responded in kind and the men smiled at his sweetness.

“Your men are not exactly good at keeping a low profile.” Laurent said, settling himself onto one of the nicer chairs by the fireplace. “Though I suppose it is less alarming if you all are friendly rather than taciturn; I only wish the lot of you weren’t quite so enormous…”

“No one is looking at us when you’re around, Yo—Laurent.” Damen said boldly.

Laurent glared in response to the cheek or to the informal use of his name.

Damen and his companions had just been given pewter mugs filled with the local spiced wine when Laurent stood abruptly, leaving his untouched wine on the table. When he spoke, it was in Akielon.

“Pallas, come with me.” Pallas stood immediately, in deference to the _kallisti_ and only looked around, sweetly confused, after he was already standing. Laurent stood next to him, imperious and focused. “We’re going to go drink with those men.”

“Your—Laurent!” Damen hissed, almost clutching at Laurent’s sleeve. “What are you---?”

Laurent did not even look back at him. “I _had_ wondered if those ears of yours were just for decoration. Have a little faith in Pallas.” And he walked over without hesitation.

“He is…quite unusual, Exalted One.” Aktis said, expressing his opinion in the most diplomatic way possible. “At one point he avoids people like the plague and now he is actively attempting to make friends?”

“At least he picked a good companion for it.” Lydos remarked, taking note of Pallas’ sweet disposition.

The wild bearded group did not seem to have eyes for Laurent in the face of Pallas’ quaint, unassuming sweetness and Laurent seemed to be acting as the translator, gesticulating wildly and causing the group to burst into laughter at his remarks, though Damen could not make out the jokes over the general noise of the inn. Damen could forget the drastic change in personality because he was so transfixed by Laurent’s ease in taking control of a social situation.

“It unnerves me.” Nikandros said. “What if these men are mercenaries? Is he trying to get us to kill people in every town we stop in? Does he want us followed? If so, by whom? And for what purpose?”

In a way, that would make sense: to avoid being ambushed by revealing himself immediately. Damen would sleep with his sword close tonight, but honestly these men didn’t seem the mercenary type…

“Our only duty is to get him safely to Ios.” Damen said. “Not to question his motives. For now…just let him be.”

The large group did not seem intent on kidnapping or killing Laurent, but as many of them stood and began to remove fur caps and heavy coats, Damen felt himself go on edge. Perhaps, Nikandros was right, though the men had anticipatory smiles on their ruddy faces, with no sign of murderous intent.

Laurent gave the command from where he was still leisurely seated and Pallas trotted back to Damen.

“Exalted One. His Gr—Laurent,” Pallas made a funny expression as the unusually informal name passed his lips, “has requested your assistance. But he did not elaborate what he needed help with. They spoke in Veretian nearly the whole time.”

Damen stood, hand on his pommel, just in case. “Understood.”

When he walked over, the men greeted him again in their broken Akielon and clapped him on the shoulder, obviously impressed with his size. Laurent ignored his presence, staring instead at the well-worn pack of playing cards that were being removed and dealt neatly onto the table.

“Did you call me over to play cards?” Damen asked incredulously.

“No, as a matter of fact.” Laurent said with an easy winning smile. “ _I_ will be playing cards. You will be cutting Jan’s hair.” He said this last bit in Veretian so that Jan could alert Damen as to who he was. “Spring is coming and they need an appropriate taming. Something similar in length to Pallas’ will do. And since you so generously offered to cut my hair not long ago, I offered that to bet in lieu of cash.”

Damen was shocked to silence.

When he found his tongue, he spoke in Akielon. “I can give you gold, you know.” He trusted himself enough with a blade to do a simple cut but did not relish the idea of starting a brawl if he butchered one of these men’s wild tangles of hair.

Laurent smiled and tossed him a rolled-up leather pouch. Inside were two deadly-sharp straight razors, a polished wooden comb, and a surprisingly delicate pair of silver scissors. Jan helpfully pulled up a chair so he could offer Damen a better vantage point and Damen looked helplessly at his companions. They all looked as flabbergasted as he felt.

Laurent picked up his cards. “I don’t want your gold. It’s the game I like.”

 

The next morning Damen’s fingers were aching from having to slice through the matted tangles of six mountain men on his own, as Laurent lost six rounds of cards refused to let Damen’s soldiers help him. He had sent helpful Lydos and Pallas skittering away with little more than a glare and a swift victory in that particular round.

But Damen had to admit—aching hands aside—that by the time he was on his fourth client, he was becoming much more proficient at making the hair look even and similar to Pallas’. He never expected in all his life that barbering would be one of his skills; it was probably for the best that his first clients were a laid-back bunch.

Damen’s companions had joined the group after a short while and watched Laurent win and lose in turn, and often by wild margins.

He had only won five coins and the leather pouch, which he had insisted on instead of coins and had immediately tucked out of sight.

It had not made a reappearance even after their group had saddled up their horses and prepared to ride out. Out of sheer habit, and perhaps some degree of exhaustion, as soon as he had a proper seat on his horse, Damen opened his arms in expectation for Laurent to come and nestle safely within.

For a moment, Laurent moved like he was going to hoist himself up. His hand touched lightly on middle of Damen’s thigh and the spot where his fingers touched felt like flames on Damen’s skin. He jerked a little and Laurent glanced up.

For a moment those wide, pretty eyes of his were completely innocent and filled with sweet shock over seeing Damen in front of him.

Damen moved forward unthinkingly and Laurent responded; his head turned, exposing the fast blush of his ears over the mistake, but his body shifted toward Damen out of habit. Damen longed to close the distance between them but…it would be highly improper to make such an overture to his icy _kallisti_. Or to make his growing feelings known to someone who was so obviously uninterested in his romantic attentions.

As if to cement his disinterest, Laurent turned away to his own horse immediately and did not look back to gauge Damen’s reaction.

Damen’s men did not notice the exchange—or wisely chose to ignore it, in Nikandros’ case—and they rode out of Couleuvre without further incident.

The snow was getting thinner and thinner on the ground the longer they rode and by the time they reached the border of Arran mid-afternoon, the snow was patchy and melting at every moment. Damen shed his gloves and looked forward to changing into a spring chiton the moment they crossed the border.

They were riding through a muddy patch near an outcrop of mossy boulders when Damen’s horse reared in the wet soil, reluctant to move forward. Damen’s men paused to wait for him to get the horse under control and Laurent’s eyebrows furrowed slightly.

“Is something the matter, Your Grace?” He asked when his horse had become less rowdy and would walk forward.

Laurent looked around at their surroundings, especially at the high rocks at their sides. “I…dislike when the horses are nervous. It makes me feel…” He did not finish his thought but Damen could see he was on edge again.

He had learned from his past mistakes. When Laurent was distrustful…thus far it had been for good reason.

Damen kept his hand on the hilt of his sword, just in case.

The moment he was about to round the corner of one of the boulders, there was a shout in Veretian and Damen jerked his reins so his horse and his body were curved in front of Laurent and his sword came out the moment someone jumped in front of him.

“You Akielon dog!”

Damen saw a rough-hewn bow and arrow—as though it had been carved by one of the branches at hand—and he moved without question, slicing with his sword before the man in front of him could react, the bow splintering under his blade. It was then he could see their opponents were not the mountain men from the day before.

Damen next instinct in the midst of the chaos was to launch himself off his horse and land heavily on a young man, who favored the ‘young’ side. He hit the mud with eyes wide and Damen’s sword at his throat.

“ _STOP_!” One voice rang clear in Damen’s mind and he stopped himself, staying poised to kill.

Taking in the situation with a quick glance around him, Damen saw that there were more men standing on the boulders around them with the majority of the arrows trained on his back. There only appeared to be about five or six others and they were all dressed like rangers in tough, tattered clothing of some indescribable color, their expressions alike in outrage.

Nobody dared to move, save Laurent; if Damen killed their comrade, he would be shot, but then the Akielons would be on them in a moment.

“Your Highness!” One of the men on the rocks called in Veretian. “Are you all right? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine!” Laurent shot back in something like familiarity. “For god’s sake, put your weapons down; the Akielons aren’t mercenaries and we will have a diplomatic incident if you kill them! Damianos,” Damen felt a light touch on his shoulder, “relax.”

“Friends of yours?” Damen asked, trying to avoid looking into the panicked wide eyes of the boy about to be skewered by him

Laurent spoke in Akielon so that Damen’s men would put away their blades.

“They are…they’re my Prince’s Guard, the one faction of the Veretian army not actually trying to kill me. I thought they were dead. But it looks like they were here…waiting for me. And I would appreciate it if you did not kill them.”

Laurent was looking around him in something akin to amazement, and Damen had no other choice when it came to something that would bring Laurent joy.

“Put down your weapons.” He ordered.

 


	6. Chapter 6 (Laurent)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> '6. The king cobra is said to be one of the most intelligent snakes and are very protective, shielding their young from enemies.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok most of the TRIGGER WARNINGS involving the Regent come about in this chapter (nothing horribly graphic, but he is an asshole). Time for Laurent's flashback scene!  
> Now that he's been reunited with his loyal guard, he has to explain what the hell has been going on in Arles. Damen is not going to like it, I assure you. And poor Nicaise. My boy Lazar has entered the fray as well and things are going to get wilder now that the Veretians are on board with this quest.   
> Also, they got. SO. FUCKING. CLOSE. this chapter...oh god, I wrote it and it drives me crazy haha! They need to just say something already! But Laurent doesn't even know what he's feeling, he's been so starved for love. Ahhhh.....

** Chapter 6 (Laurent) **

Laurent was overcome with relief, though he did not like to admit it to himself.

He had hardly recognized Jord when the man scurried down the rocks toward him to clasp his hands. In the palace of Arles, Jord showcased his pride over being captain of the Prince’s Guard by always dressing sharp and sober, his expression carefully guarded, and his dark beard always cleanly barbered. This Jord was darker from getting the sun glinting off the snow and his facial hair had gone truly wild; he wore the clothes of a ranger, with some dingy length wrapped around his neck and mouth, while his other garments were torn and splattered with mud. He did not look like the same man Laurent had last seen some weeks ago.

Damianos had helped a glowering Aimeric from where he had been tossed ass-backwards into the mud. He too was quite a change; normally the polished and prissy youngest son of Councilor Guion of Fortaine, it was rather refreshing to see him wild: curls long and unruly, lean body covered in muck. Lazar had joined them from high on the rocks, as did Orlant and Rochert and Huet and Guymar. The six of them constituted the paltry Prince’s Guard he was allowed, but he was no less happy to see them alive and well. It seemed they shared his sentiment.

After Laurent had been exclaimed over by every member present and made the minor introductions, he and his Akielon companions were led back to where his men had been making camp.

It was a small forrester’s cottage abandoned with the coming advance of spring, but it was empty and remote and could fit the lot of them in some comfort not to mention…a few extras.

He had been surprised to find his former physician Paschal, as well as the Lady Vannes waiting for them in the main room, Paschal stoking a fire and Vannes watching him with no apparent intention to offer help. Familiar faces had swiveled to meet his gaze and Vannes smiled wolfishly.

“It’s been a while, Your Highness,” Vannes’ cat-like purr had immediately set his teeth on edge and made him stand up a little straighter. Her’s was the honeyed poison of Arles, a constant reminder that he could not for one moment let slip his innermost thought, his personal feelings…unbidden Laurent glanced back at Prince Damianos, resplendent even in this lean-to, and then he averted his eyes before Vannes could catch it.

“My Lady.” Laurent drew up a chair by the fire and seated himself carelessly as though she did not even exist. “What a pleasant surprise to find you here. I had thought you overtly fond of the courtly intrigues…or has some fine man caught your attention to draw you away?”

Vannes smiled at the jab.

The only reason she could dodge strict Veretian customs dictating men and women to never be alone together in such close quarters was that she was so fond of the fairer sex that she would sooner make love to a dog than to one of the men in his guard.

“The taste of adventure is almost as good as something else,” Vannes remarked lewdly, sticking out a famous arrow-dart tongue.

“I’ll take your word for it.” Laurent waved his hand dismissively.

Once Paschal had found enough manners to offer their guests tea, though it was of the wild herbal variety that left a bitterish aftertaste, Laurent was then forced to make more introductions. He knew the Akielons could have no further doubt to his royal lineage after this show of support and he felt a burning gaze on the spot on his neck, right below his jaw.

Jord took up a stool near to him and his dark eyes were filled with concern as he began speaking in rapid Veretian. “We were waylaid by Veretian soldiers and we didn’t want to lead them to your hideout. Instead we decided to ride further south and hope you would make for the border of Patras,” that certainly explained the presence of Vannes who had decent rapport with mountainous female raiders of Vask, “when we heard rumors of a dead Veretian garrison half a days’ ride from Couleuvre. We…rode hard and camped out here in hopes that you would pass us by…we never expected…” He glanced at Laurent’s new Akielon companions.

“Truly it was unplanned.” Laurent said. He looked at Aimeric, who shamefully avoided his gaze. “I find myself in many unplanned situations these days…”

Everyone’s eyes immediately flicked over to the giant Prince of Akielos who was practically impossible to ignore. Laurent could feel his presence, warm and comforting and powerful as the rays of the sun. He shifted in his chair.

“Lazar.”

Lazar, who had just finished eating an egg, wandered over to Laurent’s side with lazy self-assurance. He had no decorum, but Laurent rather liked that about him. “Your Highness?”

“That… _mission_ I had you carry out when we left Arles?” Lazar inclined his head by way of acknowledgement, “Did you do so successfully?”

“Safe, as per your instruction. No one will think to look for him where I sent him.” Lazar said with an indifferent shrug. Once a mercenary himself, Lazar had ridden out a few days before the rest of them on a mission of utmost importance.

There was a moment of awkward silence, until Huet, a man of honor, sighed in exasperation. “A sorrowful day it is, that a usurper rules with an iron fist and boys must run through the snow for their lives…”

Another silence and then all eyes—save Laurent’s—were focused on another. He did not have to look behind him to know who it was…he could _feel_ it.

Damianos’ voice was all politeness, but there was a ring of steel to his tone. “Forgive me for my interruption but…I have been wondering for a while…actually ever since I met you, Your Grace. But,” Laurent looked back at this point and Damianos was only staring at him, “ _what_ exactly has been going on in Vere?”

There was a soft inhale of surprise from behind him and Laurent felt a cold drip of inevitability. He fought back any feelings of dread or shame. Instead he calmly accepted what he would have to do.

“We have a night at least.” He sighed, taking a sip of the foul-tasting tea. “I suppose I can tell you in that time about…why we had to leave Arles.”

“Are you sure about this Your Highness?” Jord asked in Veretian, perhaps sensing Laurent’s hesitancy.

“I can speak your language.” Damianos said with a cool edge to his voice. “Better than you, I think.”

Laurent raised one hand and all arguments ceased. It was a nice feeling. “No, no. Jord, this man has…saved my life on several occasions and…we need his help. No, I’ll tell him. And then I’ll explain what we’ll do next.”

Damianos did not break his gaze and Laurent began to think back, wondering where it had all gone wrong.

 

 _Laurent’s life had been shaped by the death of his brother_.

He often thought about how much his view on the world had changed since he was thirteen. He could still vividly remember the day he had ridden off with his brother and their other nobles on the hunt and then…the shouts, the people ushering him away, Paschal’s inability to bring back the beloved Crown Prince of Vere…The worst day of his life, really…

The elaborate halls, which had used to feel so wide and full of sunlight when he would race through them to see his beloved older brother, now felt stifling and narrow. Once he had been known to smile; now he only did so if he needed something from someone with no spine.

He used to have hope for the future, of what he could do to help his brother to successfully rule Vere. Now there was no hope in sight, and all he could hope was to survive day-to-day.

It used to be home. Now he could never for one moment relax.

The blame could solely be placed on the shoulders of one man and Laurent did not to like to even waste thoughts on him. He had been steadily undermining Laurent’s position in Arles for years and now…it was an icy atmosphere, to say the least.

It had been on one particular snowy evening on the tail end of winter, when the course of his life had shifted yet again.

Feasts in Vere were a nightly, lavish occasion, often followed by ‘sports’ involving the nobilities’ pets and Laurent all too often tired of them. It was becoming more and more common that he retired early or skipped the banquets altogether so that he could eat in his room. This particular evening was one where he decided to turn in early after seeing that things were going to be particularly debauched that evening.

The stress of the day pressed down hard on him and he looked forward to a late night soak in his own personal bathroom. For now though, he could content himself with reading, interspersed with rubbing his aching shoulders and watching the snow fall gently outside of his window.

He could lose track of time like this…

The moon was high and matched the snow when Laurent’s reveries were interrupted by an insistent pounding on his door. He was immediately on alert; no one in Arles knocked with such intensity unless there was an emergency and he grabbed his dagger—an eighth birthday gift from Auguste—that was never far from his hand as a defense, just in case. His Prince’s Guard should be right outside the door, unless…

Laurent opened the door with a seemingly relaxed stance and waited to see what hell awaited him on the other side. There was a blur of white, the same as the moon, that pushed rudely past Laurent into the recesses of his room.

Laurent sighed, immediately relaxing. Only one person in the entire castle would dare to be so rude.

He shut the door and prepared for the hell had envisioned.

There was no light or easy way around it: the dirty secret of Arles—that no one was willing to speak of in the open—was that the Regent of Vere liked his lovers on the young side. And that was putting it diplomatically.

The boy in front of him was of an otherworldly beauty, even with a sour look, but he was a boy nonetheless. Not yet fourteen, Nicaise was the sullen, sharp-tongued pet of Laurent’s uncle, and was widely regarded as a terror in the halls of the palace, as he had no fear or respect for anyone, not even Laurent. Despite all that, Laurent quite liked his poisonous mouth and quick mind, though he would never admit it aloud to anyone.

Right now, he looked like the furthest thing from a terror.

The moonlight suited him; his skin was pearly, his dark, wide eyes looked black until they caught flashes of light and then they flickered dark blue, and his enormous night shirt made him look even smaller and thinner than he actually was. The garment was not thick enough for the cold and Nicaise was trembling slightly.

“Nicaise.”

“Your _Highness_.” Nicaise said. It had an undercurrent of sarcasm; as far as Arles was concerned, Nicaise could keep up with the best of courtiers. After all, Laurent had an inkling that he was a naturally intelligent boy and he had been here since he was around eight or nine. Plenty of time to learn how to be a cunning bitch.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your late night visit?” He moved toward a crystal ewer of water to pour himself a glass; he assumed it was going to be a long, drawn out conversation and was going to offer Nicaise a glass as well. The boy interrupted him before he could.

“I don’t feel well.” It was a child’s voice, unbroken, crystalline and demanding. It reminded Laurent too much of his own when he was…that age. It annoyed him for some reason.

“Then go to Paschal.”

“I don’t _want_ to go to Paschal.”

Laurent drank leisurely, now puzzling over the visit. When people came to him, it was either to get him to try and grant a favor he didn’t have the power to bestow or to coax him into something that would put him in a compromising position. At this point, even Nicaise’s desires and orders held more sway, since he held the…well, not the ear, in any case, of the Regent. So it had to be the latter.

“If you are in need of mothering, I have neither the milk nor the inclination.” Laurent said pouring himself a second glass before he began to walk over to where Nicaise was standing. “No need to be coy with me. Just—.”

Laurent stopped a few paces short of Nicaise as he stepped on something wet that seeped through his house slippers.

He lifted up his foot to find a large red stain on the bottom of the fabric and immediately his annoyance increased tenfold. No matter how wide Nicaise made those beguiling blue eyes, Laurent was not swayed. And he did not take kindly to being disturbed in the middle of the night to have this drunk brat spill red wine on his floors. He had made a small trail on the white marble floors.

Laurent was about to be angry when he remembered…Nicaise was not holding a wine glass.

This entire realization took him less than a second and then he was quick to look for other things. Nicaise was not trembling because of the cold. There was a specific reason he came to Laurent and not the palace physician. And—to his horror that he did not show—there was more red, dripping occasionally in small spatters at Nicaise’s feet. There was a small pause and Laurent carefully set down his half-finished goblet of water.

Nicaise looked away at his approach, and might have flushed with shame, if he had not been so pale from being in pain.

“I understand. If it hurts, lie down.”

Nicaise was fiercely independent and it was suicide to show weakness in the court of Vere, but the pain must have won out in the end. He limped to the bed and lay down on his stomach, his feet dangling a few inches above the floor. Laurent noticed with disgust and horror that the back of Nicaise’s nightshirt, right where his hips were, was stained with dark red.

“Do you want me to check it?” Laurent asked in a way that was gentle for him.

“You said you had no motherly instinct.” Nicaise snarled from in the downy, white blankets. “Just get it over with.” Still, despite his bravado, his breath hitched a little as Laurent lifted up the shirt and Nicaise spread his legs…like he’d been trained to. “Is…is it bad?”

 _Yes. Yes it was very bad_ , but Laurent wasn’t about to wound him again with that information. Nicaise probably knew anyways. “What happened?” He asked quietly.

“I think you know.” Nicaise responded accusingly. Laurent did. “Ow! _Shit_.”

Laurent remembered in horrible snippets that felt like snow, like cold fingers sliding down his spine. Oh, he knew what his Uncle was capable of. But now was not the time to discuss his semi-secret past with Nicaise. “Forgive me. But you need to see Paschal. If we don’t treat this…it will get infected.”

Nicaise twisted, his pretty fury touched with the pain of moving too quickly. “In case you’ve lost your wits in the face of blood, I don’t _want_ Paschal! I don’t want his pity or yours, I don’t want to go back to—.” He panicked for a moment, remembering what a candid attitude might mean for him, what it had already given him. But then…it was just Laurent here, no one else. And Nicaise knew no one hated the Regent more than Laurent. His big blue eyes watered and his rosy bottom lip trembled as he tried to fight back these feelings. Despite his best efforts, the tears spilled over in clear, fat drops and he twitched in pain whenever he tried to hold back a sob. “I want to leave…I don’t want to stay here anymore! I’m tired of…of…” Awash in dramatics Nicaise threw himself back onto Laurent’s swansdown duvet and began to cry harder.

Laurent was frozen in shock.

He had never seen Nicaise look anything less than smugly confident in his place at court, but then…looks were deceiving here. Laurent knew you could not take these things at face value. Instead, he shook off his shock and began to think.

Nicaise was still under his pet contract. Laurent knew his Uncle would have drawn it up personally and the limitations would be draconian. If Nicaise attempted to break contract he would probably be forced into a brothel to pay off his debt at best, executed at worst. Knowing his uncle, he would bet on ‘worst’.

Still…

Laurent looked at the boy, still sniffling into his bedcovers with blood dripping dark onto the snow-white sheets, and felt a rush of indignation. He had been in this position once and had prayed desperately for someone to save him. Nicaise was in the same position now and Laurent, for once, had the ability to help him, as his uncle could not kill Laurent without due process. No one had rescued him…but he could stop this…

He felt a rush of fiery boldness, so unusual in his ‘frigid’ body. He was the Crown Prince, damn it, and he was going to help Nicaise, pet or no.

While he gave Nicaise a moment alone to compose himself, Laurent went to his writing desk and tied back his chest-length hair so that he could write as quickly as possible. He pulled a stack of seven gold coins from his personal chest, a small vial of ingestible snake poison from inside a locked drawer and—after sealing the letter with his ring—thrust the letter, the vial, and the gold inside a sturdy leather pouch that could hang from Nicaise’s neck. By the time he had finished, Nicaise had calmed down a little and was watching him with swollen, distrustful eyes.

“What are you doing?” He asked when Laurent stood in front of him.

“Do you truly want to leave Arles? If you do…you might not be able to come back. Not until I’m crowned king.” Nicaise raised an eyebrow. He knew what an unlikely scenario that was. “If you want to stay, I’ll never speak of this night again.”

Nicaise was at a crossroads.

He could throw his trust onto Laurent who could, in turn, betray that trust. It was very possible. No one could trust each other in Arles. But if he stayed…he would continued to be assaulted in this violent way. Neither choice would be easy and both would be very dangerous. Nicaise looked at the pouch and then at Laurent’s eyes; he had the same look Laurent had seen in the mirror: hard, cunning, desperate…

Then he snatched the pouch out of Laurent’s hand, clutching it to his thin chest. He had made his decision.

Laurent nodded. “I see. Then…what I need you to do is go to Paschal,” Nicaise immediately looked like he was going to argue but Laurent refused. They didn’t have much time. “No arguing. Go to Paschal to get yourself treated and medicine for the road. When you’re done, pack one bag with everything valuable you have ever been given,” Laurent remembered him dripping in sapphires the size of quail eggs, “and go to the stables. I’ll have someone trustworthy there take you out of Arles.”

Nicaise unsteadily got to his feet, wincing as more blood dripped on the floor, and Laurent walked with him to the door. Nicaise looked up at him when they reached the door and Laurent felt, in that moment, that this might be the last time they ever saw one another. There would be no long, heartfelt goodbyes.

“I won’t thank you.” He said with no emotion.

“Live well Nicaise.” Laurent said. And the boy disappeared into the darkness of the hallway. A flash of white, fleeting as snowfall.

 

The axe did not fall until late the next day.

Laurent had been more on edge than usual, though courtiers and servants would just chalk it up to him being a vicious bitch. But he was waiting at any moment for his Uncle’s loyal guards to burst in through the doors at breakfast dragging a screaming Nicaise and Lazar’s head in a bag. Nicaise would probably beg him for help again and Laurent would have to harden his heart and turn away. He could not even help himself inside these walls…

He felt the stare of his uncle boring into his head over lunch and lightly ignored it in favor of a consommé. He knew already? Of course he already knew. Nothing in the palace escaped his attention, especially when his little pet was involved.

Because Nicaise’s sudden disappearance was not mentioned, Laurent assumed that they might have already been caught and his uncle would reveal them when he truly wanted to unnerve Laurent. It was happening more and more often, what with his twentieth birthday fast approaching.

After that, nothing more could be done against him.

Laurent was preparing for dinner, lacing up his outer jacket, when the knock at the door came. His breath came out ragged for a split second and his practiced fingers missed the eyelet. He took a moment to steady himself and maintain his look of perfect calm, allowing himself to finish dressing before going to face the hell that awaited him on the other side of the door.

“Ah. To what do I owe the pleasure?” He said with complete apathy as he opened the door to the Regent’s guard. He noticed with some alarm that his own guards—who should have been flanking his door—were not there. Calm down… “If you have been called to escort me to dinner, I assure you I know the way.”

“You have been called to stand before your Uncle. He demands your presence immediately.”

Despite his growing dread, Laurent took some offense to being ordered around. He made sure his eyes were flinty. “And he will wait at my leisure. As will you.” He contemplated just standing in the hall out of spite, but decided it was better to get this over with. He followed the guards, not to his uncle’s private study or even to the dining hall, but to the massive audience chamber in the east wing of the castle. This was definitely not good…

Laurent heard the dull throb of hundreds of voices as he approached the intricate wooden double doors. For a moment, he felt thirteen years old again—cracked open, terrified—but he recovered and tilted his chin up in defiance. No fear, no fear…or he would be swallowed whole…

A thousand eyes swiveled to assess him as he walked in the audience chamber and he saw some split into grins of devious excitement. They parted for him, not in deference, but for an unwillingness to be associated with him.

His uncle sat on a raised dais at the head of his congregation, resplendent in his deep red and gold robes and smiling down at Laurent; Laurent felt the slight. That he, the Regent of Vere, would lift himself to a higher position than the Crown Prince. Laurent bore it with perceived grace. His was a waiting game.

“Nephew.”

“Uncle.”

The crowd went hush with anticipation.

“I assume you know why you’ve been called here before the court?” His uncle asked lightly. People considered his uncle a charming man; he was not overtly old or ugly and he had a way with words that made people want to do what he asked. It had taken Laurent years to learn that his heart was a black chunk of ice and that he was the type of man who would prefer to burn Arles to the ground before he relinquished control of it.

“I suppose you called an audience with me so that you can deprive our courtiers of dinner for the next hour or so.” Laurent said, deadpan, and he heard a few snickers of laughter at his gall. “Truly I am cowed in the face of your decision making.”

Though he smiled, his uncle was clearly not amused. “I believe you are acquainted with the pet, Nicaise? He has gone missing and I assume he has been kidnapped.”

“You are more than welcome to search my rooms.” Laurent replied. “A bit too young for my tastes though.”

The Regent’s eyes flashed. It was not so much that he missed Nicaise’s presence; he saw Nicaise as a possession and he did not take kindly to people taking his possessions. “A witness in the city saw one of your guards riding off with him late last night.” Laurent took a deep breath. “I intend to question the others.”

Laurent felt his stomach twist in on itself.

Now he knew why his guards had not been present outside of his room earlier. He had to keep a firm handle on his emotions as his most loyal men, Jord in the lead, were led into the open space with their wrists and arms in shackles. As always, his uncle was two steps ahead of him.

The smile became less angry and more cruelly joyous; he could smell victory. “I thought I might offer you the opportunity to question them first, as to Nicaise’s whereabouts, since they are your guards.” There was a small gasp that rippled through the audience as Laurent caught the flash of gold from the corner of his eye. He knew if he looked to his right, he would see one of the punishment whips coiled loose and dangerous as a cobra in a basket.

With his uncle’s mind made up, Laurent had only one choice.

He stepped forward in front of his men with grim determination. “There is no need for that. Release them immediately and I will take the punishment in my missing guard’s place.” At least he would not be whipped. As the Crown Prince, he could not be permanently harmed or executed unless he had attempted violence on another member of his family. But…

His uncle’s punishments were not about pain. Laurent learned that young.

When he had done something unruly or fought against his uncle’s orders, he had been led to this same audience chamber in front of the whole court, had his trousers stripped down to his ankles, and been striped across the buttocks and legs until he could not sit down for the pain. Uncle’s punishments were always about the shame. And Laurent could handle the shame sooner than he could watch his loyal men be flogged.

His uncle smiled gently and there was a small grumble of dissatisfaction as the whip was taken away and Laurent’s men were pulled off to the side. Jord shot him a look of panic as he and the other’s of the Guard were unchained but Laurent remained calm.

Now that he was older, beating his ass would have less of an effect so Laurent tensed himself for whatever new and horrible punishment his uncle could dream up. As he removed himself from the dais, Laurent knew…

His uncle has always intended for him to take the punishment.

“Nephew, if I might borrow your knife please.” He asked gently when he was only a handbreadth away. It seemed he was going to dole out the punishment himself and Laurent glanced at his guard before removing the dagger Auguste had given him to hand it to his uncle. In his heart, he prayed the knife wouldn’t be melted down. It was always a fear, having things that he cherished. There was always the fear of them being ripped away from him.

His uncle handed the knife to the soldier at Laurent’s left.

Laurent felt himself gasp—or was it the court behind him, hungry for a spectacle?—as his head was yanked to the side and there was a flash of silver and gold. When he rocked back, his head felt much lighter than before, and his uncle looked cruelly victorious amidst the gold floating down around his vision onto the floor.

Laurent watched more gold slide through his uncle’s fingers and Auguste’s dagger was dropped like trash on top of the pile of gold on the floor. Jord and his Princes’ Guard—well, anyone within view looked horrified.

It took Laurent a moment to realize it was his hair.

The guard had gripped his hair near the base and sliced most of it clean off. Heedless of style or precision, it had been sawed off so that his hair was now choppy in length, cropped short in some places and neck length in others. His uncle had been given the length of hair and the dagger immediately after and tossed them on the floor at Laurent’s feet.

Immediately after, he felt the full force of the punishment. He had been growing his hair out since the day Auguste had died, as the former Crown Prince had been famous for his long, golden hair. Moreover, the only men in Vere who had short hair were pets; it was seen as symbol of control that they were so enslaved by their contracts that they could not even have control over the length of their hair. His uncle had brought him low indeed…

It showed the entire court who still had control, even over the prince himself. There could be no question.

The Regent, all theatrics, waved his hand at the strands of gold on the floor. “Vere is truly an equal nation. Even the Crown Prince will be held accountable for thievery within his ranks.” There was a murmur of support amongst the audience and the Regent turned back to Laurent with faux concern. “Your man will be caught. And he will be brought back to face justice. Embrace me and we can put this matter behind us.”

Laurent hadn’t even been aware that he was still standing or even breathing. His body was running without the help of his brain but he reacted naturally in disgust, stiffening as those familiar arms caged him in.

“Laurent, Laurent.” His uncle murmured in his ear. “Haven’t I taught you well enough not to disobey me?”

It was foolish, but Laurent would not let the threat stand unanswered. He refused to learn when it came to his uncle. He was stubborn. Before pulling away, he also whispered to his uncle. “I’ll not soon forget this. Hopefully you won’t either when you find yourself in a similar position with a blade at the back of your neck.”

Without looking at his uncle’s reaction, Laurent pushed past his uncle and retrieved his knife. He let the silver blade catch the candelight in a warning and stalked out of the room without a backward glance.

 

Laurent was ripped out of these terrible memories, unable to finish his story, as there was the sound of a chair screeching backwards and falling onto the floor. He had had the entire room’s rapt attention as Nikandros had been translating for the Akielons who could not speak Veretian. His own men were looking at him with regret, save Aimeric; his cheeks were flushed with shame over what he knew would come next in the chain of events.

Only Damianos was not transfixed in silence. He had stood so violently that his chair had toppled backwards and his face was frozen in an expression of fiery rage. Laurent could see the angry flush on his dark cheeks and his eyes burned with intensity.

Without speaking or apologizing for his interruption—quite unlike him—he turned heel and stormed out of the cottage, nearly blasting the old door off of its’ hinges in his anger.

“Hot blooded, isn’t he?” Vannes said with a smile in her voice. She was not used to such blatant displays of emotion. It was oddly refreshing.

“Exalted One.” Nikandros looked like he was going to go after his prince.

Laurent stopped him. “No, let me.”

He hoped he did not give anything away with his tone of voice, lest his Guard and Vannes discern some emotion from it. It was an awkward time to leave the conversation, but Laurent felt compelled.

Damianos was standing near the edge of the clearing, with his back toward the cottage and his fist pressed against the trunk of a tree. He was motionless but Laurent did not underestimate him. He was still obviously angry and men like this were very dangerous when they were angry…

“ _Damianos_.” He said and winced a bit when his voice came out unduly cold and sharp. He forced himself to make his voice softer, more gentle and syrupy, like he did when he was wheedling desperate deals out of courtiers, ignoring his disgust as they slid hands low on his back or high on his thigh. “Damianos.”

Laurent was about to reach out to touch Damianos’ wide shoulder, when the man spun.

Laurent’s breath was sucked out of his lungs; it was like the first step into an overheated sauna. The strong heat, the swirling steam was such a rush that you could barely catch your breath. It felt like the heat was swelling inside him as he looked up at Prince Damianos’ enflamed expression.

“He should not do that to you.” The words came out in a rush of fiery Akielon, piercing darts of word. “He is a monster and he should not be allowed to do that to you.”

“It’s only hair.” Laurent said dismissively, the lie bitter on his lips. “And he is the Regent of Vere. He has the power to do so while we are in these borders.”

“It was a cowardly display of weak power.” Damianos hissed looking at though he would tear the tree out from its’ roots. With his physique, it wasn’t impossible. “And we are about to cross over into my lands. _Mine_. Akielos is _my_ birthright and on its’ soil my word is law.” Laurent felt the heat of Damianos’ righteous anger embracing him, wrapping around him in inescapable coils. “So hear me Laurent of Vere, if that man touches you, if he glances at you or speaks your name on my land, I will cut him down where he stands.” His expression softened to something like honest regret and…something unknown to Laurent as he touched an uneven chunk of golden hair. “In Akielos, his life is worth less than the strands of your hair…”

Laurent was having a hard time breathing evenly.

His eyes pricked in and unfamiliar feeling and all the heat had coalesced into a warm puddle in the center of his chest. Was this what it was like to have his words believed? To have someone defend his honor on little more than hearsay? Simple as he was, this Damianos was fervent in his beliefs and Laurent thought of his uncle powerless before this force of a man.

He was a force of nature. Laurent could not think of an equal to him, aside from the glowing memory of his brother.

Anyone would be powerless before him.

Laurent felt the warmth wash over him; he felt no cold, only…something he could not even begin to name. Was he dying? It felt like he was being steamed from the inside out as Damianos did not break eye contact.

Laurent tried to think. What would his perfectly controlled Veretian façade require of him? What was the strategic thing to do? Damianos already promised him the army; what more did Laurent require? What did he want?

Unthinkingly, Laurent wet his lips, the way he had seen women do when they wanted something. Damianos’ eyes flicked down for half a moment and Laurent tried to think of what he could do to turn this mood to his advantage. He…honestly couldn’t think of a single thing… Maybe, some of the warmth he would take…how was this done? How did people manage to close this distance? It was only a few inches…

Maybe, Damianos could be trusted upon to take advantage of the situation, to bridge the gap. He was hot blooded, as Vannes had said.

Trusting the only person he could—himself—Laurent closed his eyes and tilted his head up. Surely…

There was a moment when he waited without breathing. Then he jolted as he felt the warm softness of lips brush against his bare skin. He opened his eyes to find his hands lifted up to Damianos’ bowed head as the Prince of Akielos kissed the finger where his signet ring would have rested. It was a sign of ultimate deference…loyalty…Laurent felt a little cheated.

When Damianos raised his head, without releasing Laurent’s hands, his dark eyes were still blazing with…something. His voice was deep, raspy. “My word is law. And so help me gods, as I am to inherit Akielos, I will see you crowned king of Vere.” One last look and Damianos dropped Laurent’s hands to walk back to the cottage.


	7. Chapter 7 (Damianos)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 7\. 'A snake in Borneo has been found that can change color from brown-black to white, probably as a warning or defense mechanism.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooooh we're going to be about halfway done after today! Damen is still running hot from Laurent's life confession and what better way to calm him down than with ANOTHER TROPE: bed-sharing ;)   
> I mean it makes sense, after all, since they're the only two royals. Vannes might be one of my favorite characters to write in this story; she's just along for the drama of the whole situation.   
> Also big shout-out to Nesson-Elloy as I drew on that whole setting in canon for this chapter! Enjoy!

** Chapter 7 (Damianos) **

Damen did not think he could handle hearing much more of Laurent’s life in the court of Vere. Boy slaves, disgraceful punishments doled out without due process, and a man attempting to gain power by any means necessary. It had made him nearly sick with fury and he had had to leave the room before he broke yet another chair.

He was fuming at the injustice of it all, hoping that the cold air would dull his temper when…Laurent had joined him.

And Damen had made fiery promises in the face of that cold, calm expression. Laurent of Vere was unshakeable. A man who had experienced the horrors of life and still managed to have such control, such poise? Damen felt he had the elegant bearing of a king.

And when his lips were wetted white-pink as the rose apples that grew wild and sweet in Lentos…when those long eyelashes closed and his head tilted up… when Laurent looked as fine and exquisite as an Akielon statue waiting an eternity for their marble lover to press kisses onto a hungry mouth, Damen almost lost himself. He almost closed that gap between them and whetted his desire to kiss the prince of Vere.

But Laurent had given him no indication of affection (in fact it seemed to be the opposite) so Damen refused to take liberties.

Instead he had crushed his lips onto those pale, icy cold hands with all his intensity and walked away before he lost control of his emotions. It didn’t take long upon their return for the rest of the story to be revealed, and Laurent pointedly ignored Damen the entire time.

From what he could gather, a few nights after the hair-cutting incident, the young knight Aimeric was hired to bring some sort of poisoned dish to Laurent while he was studying in his rooms. The plan was set on him by his own father, Councilor Guion—though it had the stink of usurping treachery—and Jord, the captain of the Prince’s Guard was to be blamed. From Laurent’s stark retelling and Aimeric’s refusal to chime in, Damen could only assume the boy had lost his nerve and all of them had fled under the cover of night. Laurent also gave his men an update on what had happened after they parted ways, including an explanation of the _Kallisti_ and what he had been promised when he won. By the time he had finished speaking, night had already fallen.

“So…what now?” One of the young Veretian men—Rochert?—asked sensibly from where he was fiddling with something around his neck.

“We continue to Akielos.” Damen said in complete and utter confidence. “This does not change my opinion of you in the least. It will be safer for you there and…I will still give you my army to assist your guards.”

Finally, what he had wanted.

Laurent turned to look at him and his expression was unclear with the firelight behind him.

“My men will accompany us.” He said after a long pause and his tone made it clear that he would not be taking no for an answer.

There was a logistical issue with this arrangement. First of all, they were still in Vere and still had quite a ways to go through the enemy territory with soldiers and mercenaries out to kill them every step of the way. Second, they were more likely to be spotted with this larger group, especially considering that Laurent’s men looked completely Veretian. Finally…Damen was not exactly fond of the way Laurent’s captain, Jord, was glaring at him.

But…

This was his duty, like it or not. He wanted to be known as a man of honor and Laurent would attest to it when interviewed by the judges of the _Kallisti_. He supposed a few extra practiced swords and a physician would not hurt…

“They are your men. Order them as you like.”

“Exalted One!” Nikandros said in Akielon at the exact same as Jord stood and said, with all courtesy: “Your Highness!”

Damen looked at Jord and felt himself smile. Then he turned back to Laurent. “I see you have someone as well.” Laurent coughed lightly to cover what could have been a laugh but he composed himself.

“Lady Vannes and Paschal will accompany us as well.”

“Happily, we won’t run out of tea.” Damen said in Veretian and Laurent coughed again. Paschal had the grace to smile. “Ok. Understood. We can plot our next route and then make preparations.”

The foresters’ cottage was even less well equipped to deal with the overflow of people than any of their previous accommodations. Vannes, by virtue of being the only woman, had the entire downstairs to herself; it seemed that there were some restrictions on mixing bedrooms in Vere as none of the men volunteered to stay with her and all of them looked horrified as Pallas and Lydos volunteered. Instead, all of the men would be forced to share the sloped attic, which did not even have the luxury of a bed or the adequate amount of blankets.

Damen by the fact of his noble blood so far was the only one with a blanket to himself, though it only came down to his knees. Nikandros was with one of the Veretians, Lydos and Aktis were sharing with each other, and Pallas was looking for an open space to share.

“I want to share with him.” The wolfish one, Lazar, said immediately pointing at lonely Pallas upon hearing that they would be sleeping double on the scarce bedding.

The Veretians began to laugh and rib Lazar.

“Please, Jord, we’ll never sleep for the noise of them if they share!” Rochert laughed and ducked as Lazar threw a shoe at his head. “The floorboards will creak.”

“At least you don’t have to lay next to them.” Orlant said, sitting on the blanket where he and the man Huet were sharing a blanket. “Maybe some of the heat from friction will keep us warm.” There were lewd snickers and Damen smiled at their good-natured teasing.

Pallas was smiling sweetly, unsure of what was going on. “What are they saying, Exalted One?”

“That one likes your look.” He explained kindly and wolf whistles accompanied Pallas’ deep blush.

Soldiers were the same no matter where they went…

The giggles died to a hush as Laurent entered the room and looked around at the motley arrangement. There was no ‘best bed’ this time; he would sleep on the floor just like the rest of his men. But as always, he was coolly unfazed.

“Your Highness.” Jord, who was sharing with Paschal, had the unsatisfactory task of giving Laurent the bad news. “Unfortunately, with all of our new companions, we don’t have ample space or…” Laurent nodded sagely and Damen wondered if he was not actually annoyed, or if he was showcasing his masterful faux apathy. “We will have to sleep double.”

Without hesitation, Laurent stepped lightly between the lounging bodies until he was standing before Damen, looking down. Damen’s heart skipped a beat and the rest of the men were carefully ignoring the next interaction.

“That blanket is a little small.” Laurent pointed out.

He looked nice from the bottom up. Damen smiled. “It would make a nice washcloth.”

“Move over.” Laurent ordered and Damen knew his men would be burning in shame over having the Prince of Vere treat him so dismissively. “It appears you are the only one without a partner for the evening and in the spirit of fairness we should sleep as our men do.”

“I’ll remember that the next time one of us has to forgo a bed to sleep in front of the fireplace.” Damen felt like a child, dancing in a circle with a cobra. He took his chances with poking fun, but at any moment, he could be bitten. Laurent smiled without showing his teeth and the silence in the room broke as Damen made room for him on the thin futon.

It was a little awkward with the small amount of space offered, but Laurent managed to lay parallel to Damen without actually touching him.

There were soft conversations, natural in any group sleeping arrangement, after the candles were blown out, plunging the tiny room into darkness. Aimeric and Rochert were whispering in soft, rapid Veretian while Lazar seemed to be unsuccessfully trying to bridge the language gap with Pallas.

It reminded Damen of his time as a youth in the Akielon military, though…he had never been so very aware of his bedmate’s body before…

The talking dulled to silence, the silence crescendoed to snores and Damen was on the edge of nodding off himself, when Laurent shifted. The sliver of moonlight from the lone window outlined his lean body in silver as he rolled over to face Damen. Damen held his breath when he saw Laurent blink.

“It’s rude to stare.” He whispered finally, his accusation almost drowned out by a particularly deep snore.

“Yes, because you are a study in courtesy,” Damen quipped. He rather liked these interactions. He could not say such things to his men and they would never _dream_ of saying some of the things Laurent aimed at him. It was quite nice to have someone of equal status on this journey.

“You believe me though.” Laurent said. His tone was thoughtful; under the cover of darkness, he did not have the same sharpness to him. “You believe what I say of Vere and…my uncle without question.”

“You hold yourself like a prince should. You fight like a terror. And if the Regent’s tastes are what you have said…and your men back you up, then you have the honor most royalty only aspire to. Not many men would put their lives on the line for a slave boy.” Laurent was silent and Damen felt safe to hazard a question of his own. “Why did the Regent wait until now to make this attempt on your life?”

Laurent’s shoulders tensed. “I…don’t know. Perhaps he was waiting for the opportune moment. But I think I reminded him how close I am to inheriting my birthright. On my twentieth birthday…he’s going to die for what he’s done to me.”

Damen had a feeling Laurent was not being completely forthright but…he was entitled to some secrecy about any other torture he might have endured. He did not know how to respond to that.

“You aren’t cold?” He asked, slowly raising the back of his hand to Laurent’s forehead, giving him plenty of time to escape if he so chose. On the contrary, Laurent felt a little feverish.

“You are…exceedingly warm.” Laurent admitted.

Damen had hoped for the opposite but…he was at least comforted that Laurent wasn’t uncomfortably cold. “Well…we have shared a horse and…a blanket before so, if you feel too cold, don’t hesitate to move closer, if you’d like.”

Damen was simultaneously alarmed by his own boldness and shocked by the fact that he, who could have anyone he desired in Akielos, would be nervous by making such a simple overture. He just…Laurent was the Prince of Vere and his _kallisti_ , beholden to no will but his own. Damen was utterly unaware of what to do to honestly show that…he was developing a certain fondness for Laurent.

He could feel Laurent’s calculating eyes looking at his face in the dark; perhaps like a cat he could see in the dark or, like a snake, he could sense Damen’s pounding heartbeat.

Then he sighed and turned back around so that his back was to Damen again.

“Good night, Your Grace.” He murmured as soon as one of the men snored loudly, drowning out his words. He began to close his eyes, finally feeling the warm haze of sleep.

“Good night.”

At the last moment, Laurent pushed up against him, his whole body pleasantly warm. His soft hips pressed tight against Damen’s lower stomach, his golden head resting softly against Damen’s left collarbone and Damen would have stiffened if he hadn’t been nodding off just then. Quite of its’ own accord, his right arm lightly draped itself over the curve of Laurent’s stomach and he fell asleep like that…holding the Prince of Vere…for warmth…

 

Not one to waste time now that he had supposedly been missing for two months now, Damen woke to find Laurent giving orders downstairs the next morning as his men began to pack up their horses.

It looked like Laurent’s guard had lost some of their horses en route as two of the men had to ride double. Aimeric and Orlant were the most slender so Aimeric was going to take up the place behind Jord and Orlant would share with Huet. Damen watched them load up their saddlebags as he pretended to drink the horrible Veretian tea and was shortly joined by the Lady Vannes.

“Did you sleep well, Lady Vannes?” He asked politely in Veretian, offering her a sip of his tea.

“Thank you, I’d rather drink piss.” She said charmingly, looking at the contents of the cup. “In regards to your question, I slept well enough for having you all try to snore down the timbers of this house.”

Damen had the grace to look embarrassed. He had not even remembered the snoring when he could think of the way Laurent slept against him of his own volition. More than once this morning, he had caught himself looking at the curve of Laurent’s waist; his arm had lain there…

“I’m amazed you decided to join them on this expedition.”

Vannes smiled in a way that made Damen feel like she knew exactly what he was thinking. “You can just ask the question. I came with them because…originally the plan was to cut through Vask to Patras; that is somewhere our Regent will never go willingly.”

“Too dangerous?” Damen asked, thinking of the warrior women in the mountains.

“You could say that.” Vannes’ laugh was throaty. “The Regent of Vere does get nervous when anyone with a cunt wanders too close, which severely impedes my ambitious nature. My grandmother on my mother’s side is Vaskian so I speak the language passably and His Highness has sworn me his highest position at court with my assistance.” She smiled to herself in some private joke. “But don’t think it’s all selfish reasons. I like this; adventure, deceit, and the idea of killing my own foolish countrymen?” Damen noticed the slim sword at her rounded hip. “And…to be completely honest, I quite like our stubborn Prince of Vere. I’m sure you can relate…”

Damen gave pause at that at looked at Vannes who was now smiling as she surveyed the men and wondered again if this woman could see right through him.

At the risk of incriminating himself any further, Damen stayed quiet until the Veretians were prepared to leave. For the first time that morning, Damen was sitting abreast of Laurent, though he took care not to stare too long in case Vannes or any of Laurent’s men were watching him.

“I hope you’re right about this.” Laurent said in an oddly clipped tone, his eyes ringed in darkness from the uncomfortable sleeping arrangements. “Otherwise you may be treated to a lengthy stay in the finest dungeon Fortaine has to offer.”

Damen smiled.

He trusted his own strategy skills, honed after years of military service, and upon hearing the previous night the vehemence with which the Veretians wanted to avoid the border town of Fortaine, he couldn’t help but inquire as to why that was. Aimeric spoke his first words since Damen’s arrival, explaining that it was his family’s ancestral home and was sure to be crawling with Veretian troops.

“As I’ve said before,” Damen replied, reining in his horse, “They won’t expect us to come so close to that large of a fort. They won’t be on their guard at all, thinking you’ll try to go to Patras or Vask.” With Vannes’ presence, he was sure the entrance to the mountain paths were being heavily patrolled. “And so long as we stay on the outskirts of town and no one picks a fight, we won’t be of much notice. Please have some faith in the ineffectiveness of your soldiers.”

Laurent cracked a smile before he could help himself.

Surprisingly, their party of fifteen made good time through the sloping forests, led by Lazar and his endless library of lewd songs. They were relatively amiable and Damen found himself riding alongside one of the younger men, Rochert, who was more apt for conversation and took it upon himself to personally introduce each of the Prince’s Guard.

Lazar, he explained, was leading because he had been born into a den of forest thieves and decided to seek his fortune elsewhere when he was a young man. No one else could navigate as well as him and he was faster on foot moving through these hills than most men on horseback. That at least explained why he had been given the task of taking that Nicaise…wherever Laurent felt was safe.

“The prince allows such men in his Guard?” Damen asked gently, so it was not construed as an insult.

“His Highness cannot exactly be choosy the way things are now.” Rochert admitted, once again fiddling with something around his neck. “And Lazar is loyal if…unconventional. Hell, most of us are. His Highness saved Huet from the gaol after he picked a fight with ten of the Regent’s Guard. Guymar guarded his elder brother, Auguste—may he lie with the stars—and he felt compelled to continue his contract with the younger prince. We all have our own reasons for following Prince Laurent, that’s for sure.”

“And what is yours, if I may ask?”

Rochert flushed red and his voice came out in a whisper of embarrassment. “Well…I’ll be honest with you…first, it was because I was a young squire in the castle and His Highness was…well, _striking_ , if you catch my meaning, even then. Call it a boyhood crush.”

“I am sure it was commonplace.” Damen was forced to agree.

“Ah, yeah, that it was, but at least I never acted on it. Bit of a shrinking violet.” Damen snorted at that. “But from what I heard a good many young men found themselves disgraced after pushing their suit a little too intensely…now most have given up but there are… _nasty_ rumors. Very nasty.” Damen’s fury must have shown on his face as Rochert abruptly changed the subject. “Ah, well I decided to guard His Highness because of my sister.”

He finally showed Damen was around his neck, tucked away from view and hidden by his heart. It was a thin chain of yellow and a large, bright red stone carved in the shape of a flower.

“She carved this asphodel for me; it’s simple carnelian as I can’t afford rubies…yet. The Regent had her and my nephew exiled from court a few years back since my nephew was born out of wedlock. I think…he just likes the excuse to get women out of the palace and His Highness will let them return when he is crowned king.” The glow was overwhelming in Rochert’s voice and Damen was once again struck by just how well Laurent defended the people around him. Rochert tucked the red and gold pendant back into his shirt.

Damen nodded in assent and thought for a few moments as to how much he had learned about Laurent in ten minutes of talking with Rochert. But it seemed the man was allergic to silence.

He only waited about a minute and half before speaking again. “I can see now why His Highness followed you and your men.”

“I promised him my army.” Damen said politely.

Rochert considered this. “Yes, but you are also huge. And a man of honor. Such men can be hard to come by in Arles. And I’ve not seen His Highness smile since before his brother’s death.”

That comment kept Damen warm for most of the ride.

By the time the group reached the enormous township of Fortaine, the sun was already beginning to set and there was no snow on the ground. Damen’s men chattered excitedly about this bit of information and shed their clothes liberally at the familiar warmth. It was beginning to actually look like early spring down around these parts.

“Aimeric.” Aimeric near jumped out of his saddle as Laurent called out to him, rapidly attempting to wrap his ostentatious hair again. Damen nudged his horse over to assist him, fingers more deft. “Do you know of a place to stay on the outskirts of town?”

Aimeric bit his bottom lip. “I’ve never…father didn’t let me ride out this far.”

Laurent had to take a moment to compose himself over what was probably some very deep annoyance. “Haaa…I suppose I can always count on Councilor Guion to ignore one of his few duties as the steward of my fort.”

In the end, they had to send out scouts to find a discreet establishment where they could stay for a night, no questions asked. Nikandros volunteered to go, as did Rochert and Orlant and Damen guiltily looked forward to a stretch of more than five minutes without having Rochert talk to him about the medicinal properties of tree bark or his incessant questions about the places they would be traveling through in Akielos.

Laurent was looking at the town from their vantage point with a bit of a furrow in his brow.

“Is something bothering you?”

Laurent was not as jumpy as Aimeric and only turned levelly to face Damen. “Aside from the fact that we will soon be riding into one of Vere’s strongest forts? Yes, and that issue is Orlant and Rochert are devils on the best of days.”

Damen wanted him to elaborate but Laurent refused to say anything more on the subject until the three of them returned from their mission. Damen noticed Nikandros looked incredibly pained…even more so than usual, while the Veretians had a glint in their eyes.

“Report?” Damen asked.

“Exalted One, forgive me but we were unable to find an inn this far out that could accommodate all of us…However, these men have found an… _alternative_ , so to speak.” He seemed incredibly reluctant to say where exactly they were staying but Damen had a distinct feeling…

His suspicions were confirmed when the Rochert and Orlant led them through the narrow streets of Fortaine to one of the larger two story homes in an otherwise seedy looking area. The house glowed from having candles lit in every room and an old wooden sign with a rose obscenely carved to look like something else hung above the old red door. Laurent looked dismissively and kept his mouth shut of any complaints as he led the way inside. Damen followed and took in his surroundings through a haze of rose perfume and the bell-like laughter of some of the prostitutes of Fortaine.

Aside from the elderly proprietress, there were eight young women, all bare-breasted and ranging in color and size from the ones who looked like they could be Laurent’s fair cousins to women born closer to the border, dark and thick, and even one with hair like flames and freckles splashed across her skin in dots of pale brown ink. They looked up, and up even further at Damen’s entrance; probably only a lifetime of seeing every time of man under the sun kept their professional pouts from slipping.

“Is this a good idea?” Damen asked in Akielon, to anyone who might be listening.

“We can rent out the place so no soldiers or mercenaries can take up here. And if we have the gold then they’ll keep quiet about this.” Laurent responded. He did not particularly strike Damen as a whoremongering type.

“But if someone pays them more, then they might.”

Laurent gave him an arch look. “Then you had best pay them more than anyone else can offer.” Damen smiled at his gall. “Unless you are insinuating that Akielos cannot buy off a handful of whores.” Then, with complete and utter confidence, Laurent leisurely strode over to the largest armchair in the parlor and sat down. “We would like to rent out this establishment and all of your girls for the evening. Any other customers will need to vacate the premises. If there are complaints, my guard can see them out.”

He said this with such cold assurance that it did not leave any room for discussion.

Within the next fifteen minutes, three men from upstairs were politely asked to leave and given a reduced-price for the trouble. A decent sum of gold changed hands from their group to the proprietress and no further questions were asked. Now completely in control of the situation, Laurent was at his leisure to begin giving orders. It suited him.

“No alcohol, no drugs. We will be up not long after dawn so…keep the humping to a minimum if you indulge.” He made no indication of any selection of his own, but snapped his fingers to bring one of the girls over. “You there. Show my men to where you keep your supplies. I am in need of a mirror, an ewer and a small bowl filled with water, towels, and soap. Orlant, Huet, assist them.”

Orlant and Huet looked disappointed to be called away from the ladies, but they followed their prince’s orders. Vannes’ attention was immediately taken up by two girls who wandered downstairs, still flushed from their previous companions, and Pallas and Lazar had mysteriously disappeared. Other than that, the rest of their men waited patiently or chatted with some of the remaining women. Oddly, Damen’s group—though only he and Aktis enjoyed the company of women—seemed at ease. The Veretian men seemed almost nervous, awkwardly avoiding staring at the women’s bare chests.

Damen meandered over to Laurent’s side. “Will you be bathing here in the main room?”

Laurent shot him a look. “Actually no, it’s for you.”

“How thoughtful. Hopefully the bowl can fit my delicate, dainty frame.”

Laurent’s mouth quirked up. “You have no interest in women.” Damen laughed aloud at that, throwing back his head and feeling his cheek dimple. When he returned Laurent’s gaze, Laurent was staring at him very intently. “What is it?”

“I enjoy the charms of men and women.” Damen admitted. “But I don’t like to pay for whores. I don’t want to coerce or force anyone to make love to me. I could say the same about you though.” Laurent was looking at him now like it was the first time he had ever seen him properly.

His words were very rapid. “I doubt you’d need much coercion. Veretian men, as a rule, do not usually spend the night with women who they aren’t married to. Normally the Prince’s guard follows this regulation but…this situation is hardly normal is it? And for your information…no. I do not…I’ve never wanted…with a woman.”

Damen’s heart beat a little faster but he was unable to ask any more as Huet and Orlant reappeared carrying what Laurent had asked for.

“Oh good.” He stood up smoothly. “Men, gather round.” Damen had a small bundle slapped into his hand. “His Majesty, the Prince of Akielos has offered to give the lot of you haircuts.” Damen opened the bundle to reveal the delicate tools Laurent had won from the mountain men. Laurent smiled at him. “We are grateful.”


	8. Chapter 8 (Laurent)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 8\. 'The more sunlight and heat a snake gets, the more energetic and active it becomes'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So soon into chapter 8 and we are officially in Akielos! That means our golden snake is heating up, his icy heart is melting a bit more, and well...brumation.  
> I also love the kind of relationship Laurent has with Pallas now. Laurent is trying to protect everyone, even if they are beefier than him and Pallas probably thinks it's adorable. And guess what? More cheese. A romantic campfire under the stars???? I aim to please ;)  
> Also, another treat for you all! This chapter is another featuring the brilliant art of [cannedebonbon](http://cannedebonbon.tumblr.com/) so go show her some love for another freaking masterpiece. I could cry it's so good!

** Chapter 8 (Laurent) **

Laurent had watched as Damianos carefully cut the hair of each and every one of his men, without a word of complaint; in fact, he actually made friendly banter with some of the prostitutes who were watching in amusement and appreciation of Damen’s fine form…of his large, skillful fingers…his easy open smile… Hair fell in curls and tendrils at his feet.

Laurent looked at the women. He had never once felt desire for any of the women of his court. They were beautiful of course, pretty to look at, fun to converse with; Vannes would be inclined to agree with him as she had two beauties draped over her while Damianos was cutting. But desire their bodies? Never.

While he was in this pleasure house—his first time in one actually—as he was memorizing the details of the room, half-listening to the conversations, he realized he had never really felt desire for anyone in his court. It was a foreign concept to him…

As he looked at the women he wondered, he imagined…

He had seen it many a time in Arles. The clothes would be ripped apart to bare the flesh, buttons savaged, laces torn, and they would be instructed in cold, clear tones: _stroke this, lick here, move like that, smile, moan, want it_. It would feel like ice, the strange fingers yanking the hair and trailing lines and ravaging the living object they had bought. The very idea was abhorrent to him…

But…

He watched as Damianos’ hands carded gently through Aimeric’s wild chestnut curls and thought to himself that…that wouldn’t be too repulsive. The feeling of large, warm hands gently sifting through his hair, cutting away all memory of when his long hair had been sliced off. His hair prickled under the scarf. Goosebumps rose on the back of his neck.

Warmth, liquid warmth would slide down his scalp and it would feel like life breathed back into him. Warm breath on his neck, hot hand gently on his shoulder. No ice, just heat, heat, _heat_ …

Laurent stood abruptly because—quite suddenly—the heat rushed lower to his hips. Damianos looked over.

“Are you alright, Laurent?” He asked this in informal Akielon, mindful so that the women could not discern his identity. “Are you—?”

Laurent interrupted and wondered how many more slights Damianos could take before he was fed up with Laurent. “I am going to sleep.” When one of the prostitutes looked like she was going to offer her services, Laurent gently rebuffed her advance. “No, no. I want to be alone. Good night.” He walked away from a chorus of echoes, wishing him a pleasant night’s rest. Damianos, he noticed, did not speak up.

Laurent felt slightly irritated as he walked up the stairs to the second floor bedrooms. The scent of flowers made his mind feel cloudy and he wondered if his orders hadn’t been followed. The heat was too much…

The furthest room afforded the most privacy and therefore it was the best.

The moment he was inside, he yanked at the scarf that hid his hair. This far south, the material was too hot and itchy and he longed to be rid of it…he ached to be free from hiding. Unfortunately, Damianos had wrapped it so well earlier that it only constricted tighter around his neck. Now in a state of annoyance bordering on fury, Laurent whipped out his dagger, intent to slice it from his head. He wanted to see the pieces in tatters at his feet.

He jumped as a hand caught his own before he could slice. More than a grip holding him back, it cupped his wrist gently.

“You take liberties coming into my room uninvited.” Laurent said. He knew. No one else would have followed him.

“I’ve been calling your name ever since you entered this room.” Damianos said. “You seemed…preoccupied. I thought…” Under careful suggestion of Damen’s fingers, Laurent lowered the knife, “I thought since you volunteered me to care for every Veretian on the premise…I could extend the same courtesy to the future king.” Laurent breathed out.

“Get on with it then…please.”

Damianos smiled. “I can’t blame you. Knots like these are simple but clever.” It seemed that in one tug he managed to unwind the fabric and Laurent felt fresh air on his head.

“If you have to brag about the level of your intelligence, I can’t help but doubt the actual existence of it…”

“Why…are you so quick to try and hurt me?”

The heat was gone immediately and Laurent cursed himself for being so unthinkingly sharp. He wanted to be…well, he didn't want to be cruel but, he didn’t know how.

Instead, he turned to Damianos and hoped that he could find the right thing to say. He felt his brow furrow as he turned back to Damianos. The man didn’t look upset; he just searched Laurent’s face and it unnerved Laurent even more than if Damianos looked angry.

Something must have shown on Laurent’s face because Damianos lost the look of inquisition and he smiled. “I’ll have to take more liberties but…I hope you know, you don’t need to be afraid of me.”

“I’m not afraid.” Laurent lied.

Damianos nodded.

He was about to turn to leave, when Laurent willingly lost a little grip on his control. “Wait.” Damianos’ hand hovered above the doorknob and Laurent panicked inwardly, trying to think of an acceptable excuse as a reason for Damianos to stay. A single chunk of blond hair fell in his face. “My hair. Will you—?”

He didn’t even need to finish his sentence.

Damianos left the door immediately and went to Laurent’s side to look at his hair. Laurent found his recent thought from downstairs suddenly realized as Damianos began to gently shift his matted hair. Laurent turned his entire focus on not closing his eyes—because if he did, he might do something stupid—and simply watched, unblinking as Damen smoothed his hair. His eyes were watering by the time Damen took his hands away.

“Goodnight Damianos.”

He smiled. “Goodnight Laurent.”

Laurent watched him, wondering if Damianos would actually take the unofficial request to leave. Damianos shut the door without question and Laurent exhaled.

“Stay.” He whispered.

 

It took Laurent and his group (a few of whom were _very_ satisfied with their accommodations) a little longer than normal to go through Fortaine, because they could not ride straight through to the border and had to make a wide berth around the city. Laurent began to feel very eye-catching as the Akielons began to shed their clothes along the ride.

This far south, it did not feel like early spring. It felt like late spring…the late spring of his twentieth birthday, something he had looked forward to for a long, long time.

The forest was beginning to change as well. In the north of Vere, the trees were dark and bare and deciduous, in the center the forest was rocky and treacherous. Here it was open and vibrantly green. He reached out his bare hand to subtly touch the waxy surface of the passing plants.

“How much longer do you reckon?” Rochert asked from where he was a few paces behind Laurent.

“Shouldn’t be much longer.” Damianos called. “Just in case the Veretians think you will try to go to Akielos, we’re going to take a lesser known route that smugglers use. Aren’t we Lazar?”

Lazar was leading the pack, this time having generously volunteered to share a mount with Pallas, which Laurent felt had something to do with the fact that no women had been invited to their shared room the previous evening. “Sure thing, boss—erm, Your Highness.” He amended quickly. “So long as you don’t mind thieves in a pinch. Hopefully I can sniff them out before they give much trouble.”

“I’m amazed you can smell anything after having your face buried in ass all night.” Rochert called back in response.

All of Laurent’s men—save Aimeric who blushed, Paschal and Jord—found this uproariously funny. Laurent also did not laugh; he did not understand such jokes or how they could be construed as funny. Pallas could not understand that they were talking about him and if the Akielons had spent the night in bed with one of the prostitutes, they kept it to themselves. Lazar simply made a rude gesture back at Rochert, followed by more laughter.

Laurent pulled his horse to a stop but stared straight ahead. “One might think you _want_ to bring about thieves,” Laurent said, in his iciest tone, pleased when the laughter subsided, “with as loudly as you cackle. If you’re not fond of your possessions, in the spirit of fairness, you ought to offer them to your fellow guardsmen.”

“Apologies, Your Highness.” Rochert murmured, cowed. The apology rippled through his guards as well. Only then did Laurent spur his horse back into motion.

Any conversations thereafter were conducted in hushed tones and Laurent was shortly joined by Vannes. She of all the company, looked the most sated.

“So nice to see you growing a backbone, Your Highness.” She said as lightly as if they were discussing the weather. It set Laurent’s teeth on edge.

“And you must not be overtly fond of your own backbone if you feel safe making such comments.” He replied.

“Do you think he likes prickly ones that play hard to get?” Vannes continued, obviously undeterred. “Or…I bet he likes them sweet, like honey. When they just melt in your mouth and they whisper pretty things in his hair. The lovely girls from last night had a most compelling conversation as to whether or not our sunny companion is everywhere in proportion…”

“I’m afraid don’t understand your meaning, My Lady.” Laurent responded, refusing to give her the satisfaction. He cursed her as he suddenly remembered he knew the answer to this question.

“Please!” Vannes scoffed, keeping her voice low. “As if you hadn’t noticed him. I daresay he’s taller than some of these trees. Prince Damianos is a fine specimen of a man and I don’t even _like_ men.”

“He can speak fluent Veretian.” Laurent hissed impatiently.

“And you are not an ice-cold frigid bitch, as half the men in Arles say.”

“The other half?”

Vannes smiled but it did not reach her clever, brown eyes. “You know that they say you’re a slut in the privacy of your own chambers. Otherwise I would think your ears are just for show. He took no lover last night,” back to wickedness she went, “and he looks long at you. Or are your eyes in poor condition as well?”

Laurent raised his chin. “I thank you for your concern. My eyes and ears are in perfect working order.”

Vannes shrugged, although Laurent felt her prying eyes and curious mind would not soon let the subject drop. For a moment, he had a sharp pang of panic in fear for Damianos’ safety. Thank god they were on their way out of Vere. Laurent could not have anything or anyone close to him…it would be violently ripped away. And he did not let that anxiety show on his face.

Lazar led them well and he called back not an hour later, “Welcome to Akielos!”

The woods continued to thin out for quite some time, with wide swathes of land in between the gnarled old trees and the heat became even more apparent as their group rode into a well-traveled road flanked by fields of new spring grass that was tall enough to brush the horses’ chests. Laurent felt dreadfully exposed now that he was used to the privacy a dense forest lent them.

His Akielon companions had no such qualms; in fact, the moment they had crossed into Akielos, shirts were yanked off, boots and socks were thrown in bags, and pant legs were rolled up to showcase dark, muscular legs. They showed so much skin it was hard to look in their general direction without feeling the heat acutely. Their skin was dark and smooth, boasting a life of summer and oceans and riding fearlessly under the sun…

He was so on edge that he did not immediately notice as Damianos cantered up beside him. “Do you not find my homeland beautiful, Laurent?”

“We have no cover.” Laurent admitted, unable to see the beauty through his concern.

“No one will hurt you.” Damianos assured him.

Laurent looked at him, meaning to give him an arch look but he was immediately distracted. He had to look to the undulating sea of grass instead. “I would be willing to bet there are mercenaries even in this lovely place.”

“Yo—it is lovely, isn’t it?” Damianos said, ignoring Lauren’t concern in favor of what he wanted to hear. “I cannot wait for you to see the villas and farmlands of Sicyon and Mellos; it’s where we grow our wheat and olives and fruit, specifically grapes for making wine. And this time of spring, things will be just blossoming. Then even further south you’ll be able to see the emerald-blue coast and the white ports and then Ios at the crown of it all.” He sounded so utterly delighted to show off his beloved homeland, that Laurent forgot his worries for the moment.

“And I assume it will be hellishly hot?” He smiled in spite of himself.

Damen looked Laurent up and down, taking in his pallor and clothing, more suited for a snowy wasteland. “I suppose…for you it might be warm in the center of Akielos but by the coasts the breeze from the ocean is very refreshing. And once we get you some proper clothes, I’m sure you will be much more comfortable.”

It took a few moments for the words to sink in, and then another moment for him to remember his prior conversations with Damianos about the style and length of Akielon clothing. _Shit_.

He was still brooding on this fact by the time they reached the first major town of Knossos only an hour or two before sunset.

With the complete and utter ease of a Crown Prince at home in own country, Damianos led the way through the cobblestone streets, though it was Nikandros who asked where the proper garments could be bought. It was clear that Damianos’ reputation preceded him—more than likely his large body was a dead giveaway—as people bowed their heads in respect. Laurent looked away from their prying eyes. They stuck out too much.

The lady who the locals directed them to lived in one of the larger houses in town, the walls painted white and bordered in a merry pattern of red and black curls. Akielon style was very simple in comparison to Veretian excess, Laurent noted, as he entered the villa.

The entrance room was wide and open with very little decoration.

There were potted plants flanking either side of the door, marble columns decorated with the same simple pattern on the outside of the house, and smooth mosaics embedded into the floor. Quite like his Akielon companions, their decorating style was simple, clean, and easy to look at.

The woman who owned the house and all the cloth within seemed out of her wits at being visited by the crown prince and refused to even look up at Damianos as she answered their questions about their clothing. Shop assistants were produced and seemed amazed by the sober color of their Veretian winter clothes and a few giggled at Laurent’s headscarf; he remembered irritably that Damianos said it was the style of old women.

Within a few moments of Nikandros and Damianos expressing what they wished to purchase, Laurent was ushered into a small side room and brought a small selection of what looked like pillowcases. Most were white, while some were bathed in just the smallest bit of yellow, violet, and blue, and all of them had vivid colored borders.

The female shop assistants did not seem to mind in the least as Laurent stripped off his vest, undershirt and pants, though—as he undid the scarf—he heard whispers of dismay over the state of his hair. He tried to ignore it as he made a selection and discovered a new set of problems.

As he held the white cloth up in front of him, he was forced to admit he had no idea how to put it on.

“I don’t…” The women jumped as apparently they did not realize he spoke Akielon, “I don’t quite know how to put this on.”

Akielons were all unstoppable forces of nature.

The two ladies rushed to his side and surrounded him in a whirlwind of activity as they attempted to simultaneously dress him and explain the proper way of wrapping and pinning the miniature bed sheet. However, because they were spinning him and yanking up his arms and speaking in swift tones, he could barely catch any of their instructions before they had finished.

Laurent couldn’t help but blush and the women giggled at his expression. He felt naked without actually being naked. The cloth did not leave much to the imagination.

His right nipple was exposed completely and the skirt barely fell to mid-thigh. How did men ride without baring their entire ass? What if the day was particularly windy? What if it rained? The fabric was so thin and light that any sort of moisture would render it translucent. He was panicking with these questions as the shop assistants laced his feet into knee-high leather sandals.

When a looking glass was procured, Laurent saw that—hair aside—he looked much less noticeable without his black Veretian clothes. It was clear that his helpers found this look a vast improvement.

When Laurent finally found the courage to emerge from the changing room, he found that his companions had undergone similar treatment.

Aimeric was desperately pulling at the hem of his own jade green chiton, which had risen up a little high on his peachy thighs; Jord was watching him carefully though he also looked stiff with discomfort. Rochert had managed to find a white chiton with a hem that matched his red and yellow pendant while Huet and Guymar were attempting to twist each other’s exposed nipple. Vannes, he noticed, was more modestly covered across the chest and Paschal, being a little older and not a soldier, had a different style of clothing entirely, with a length wrapped loosely around his shoulder and the skirt reaching his knee.

There was an air of joking awkwardness about them, unused to wearing so few clothes and the fact that most of them were whiter than the cotton itself. The Akielons had no such issues.

For them…they had been raised wearing these. They wore it with confidence, careless ease the way chitons were meant to be worn.

There was a sound like metal rain and gold coins rolled every which way over the mosaic floors. The pleasant conversations stopped and Laurent froze at the sudden silence. Eyes raked over his body and he resisted the urge to try and cover himself. He had to appear confident…no weaknesses…

The source of the noise was Damianos. Nikandros, who was currently looking at Laurent with something akin to panic, had been handing Damianos a handful of Akielon coins. But Damianos was looking at Laurent and his focus was such that the coins had slipped through his fingers.

The coins were retrieved, Laurent joined his men and the clothing was neatly paid for. But Damianos did not once look away from Laurent.

 

For the first time in his life, Laurent found himself about to sleep under the stars.

Upon realizing—thanks to the map of Akielos that was produced from the recesses of a saddlebag—just how much longer it would take for them to reach Ios, Damianos and Laurent agreed that it would be in the groups’ best interest to continue going south. If a town was not discovered by nightfall, they could set up camp by a copse of trees; it was warm enough in these parts that sleeping outside would be of no concern.

“Someone else must go to collect firewood.” Laurent instructed as Lazar approached him with all intents to ask. “If you go with your chosen companion, we won’t eat until the witching hour. Same with Rochert, as easily as you apparently get lost.” Rochert blushed; they had waited for him in the town a good half hour as he had supposedly gotten lost on his way back from buying provisions. “Huet and Guymar can go.”

Laurent wanted to speak with Pallas in any case, Lazar’s love life be damned.

Across the rest of the camp, there was a flurry of activity.

Aktis, Lydos and Orlant were unpacking the bedrolls like a well-seasoned team, despite the language barrier while Paschal was allocating water from a nearby brook to several traveling casks. Rochert attempted, foolishly, to offer a cast-iron skillet to Lady Vannes who looked at it with thinly veiled disdain.

“Do I _look_ like I know how to cook?” Rochert looked like he was about to respond when she interrupted. “No need to speak. Just get that pan out of my face or you’ll find it smacked against yours.”

Aimeric was standing off to the side looking like he wasn’t sure what to do with himself.

Laurent felt a twinge of pity for him. Naïve, useless boy…he had no business being out here in the unknown wilderness. But he had thrown his lot in with Laurent that night when he had tossed the food on the floor and pressed his own jacket into Laurent’s hands, large brown eyes pleading along with his voice. _“Your Highness, you must leave immediately!”_

He had saved Laurent’s life. But he was not a member of the Prince’s Guard, he did not fit in, and he had been sent to take Laurent’s life. Most treated him with deferential distrust while other, bolder ones, like Orlant and Rochert voiced their suspicions of treachery out of earshot.

Laurent wanted to keep his loyalty, to make him feel like he was a member of the team.

“Aimeric!” Aimeric jumped as Laurent called out to him. “Help Paschal with the provisions.”

Aimeric, shy as he was, did not grace Laurent with a ‘yes, Your Highness’, but instead smiled and nodded quickly as scampered off to assist Paschal. Laurent felt eyes on him and looked over to see Jord standing in a cluster with Damianos and Nikandros watching the peachy length of Aimeric’s legs as he innocently bent over to collect an armful of leeks.

Laurent sighed. More talks of impropriety that he was unprepared to give.

“Laurent!” Now it was Laurent’s turn to flinch as he was called, though this time it was in the deep, rattling voice that tingled in his spine. Damianos beckoned from where he was standing by a flat-topped rock that reached his hip. Laurent saw the map spread across the top of the rock and he felt…probably how Aimeric felt to be included. They were waiting on him to make decisions. It was exhilarating. It was like being a prince. And believing it, not actually thinking it.

“Wait for me.” Laurent called, knowing that Damianos would do just that. He had something else he needed to do.

Pallas was inadvertently showcasing his fine body by assembling the weapons and lugging them to over where they would be sharpened later in the evening. Laurent made a mental note to never bend over in his chiton, if Pallas and Aimeric were any example to go by. He waited for a moment for Pallas to get the sharp bits out of the way before clearing his throat by way of getting Pallas’ attention.

“Your Grace.” Pallas said, seemingly delighted to see him. “Do you need my help?”

“No.” Laurent assured him, wondering the best way to bring this up without embarrassing Pallas. “You don’t speak Veretian, do you?” He got closer to give some semblance of privacy between them.

Pallas shook his head, blushing a bit. “No but…Lazar has shown an interest in teaching me.”

“I’m sure he has.” Laurent knew that most teaching in Vere was done between the bed sheets. “So you didn’t understand when my men were laughing this morning as we rode.” Pallas looked at him, smiling but not comprehending. “This morning, on the ride to Akielos, my men were teasing you and Lazar about…”

“Ah.” Recognition dawned. “They referred to Lazar kissing me in the Veretian style?”

Laurent felt himself lose composure. “Excuse me?” He was Veretian and he had never heard of such a thing.

Pallas’ smile got wider somehow. “He tried to explain in…the house. We were discussing various words and he gave an effective demonstration of kissing in the Veretian style.” When Laurent still showed no recognition, Pallas gave more detail in a hushed tone. “It’s the same as normal kissing, Your Grace, only the lips are pressed against…well, the…the _bud_.” Pallas seemed extremely flushed at having to explain and he leaned forward to whisper to Laurent the lewdest Veretian word for ‘hole’. “Lazar is…a most skillful kisser.” _Curse Lazar for being an insatiable slut_.

“I-I see.” Laurent said, his mouth a little dry. “Yes, I believe there was some mention of that. We Veretians are quite…open about these matters. I’m not sure how it is in Akielos but…if you find it uncomfortable to be a topic of fireside conversation, I can…order them to stop.”

Pallas touched Laurent’s shoulder with a gentle, calloused hand. “You are right, Your Grace. It is not the way in Akielos to brag so; usually time with a lover is treasured and held secret. But who am I to shy away when someone finds loving me so desirable that he wants everyone to know? But you are very sweet, very kind to think of my feelings.” No one, save Auguste would ever openly say such things.

“And you are not afraid? That you and he have known each other so little time? That you may soon…” Laurent did not want to quash their hope…or his own.

Pallas laughed. “You Veretians are the same! You and he. He makes everything so complicated when it should just be simple. I desire him, he desires me. There is nothing more truthful in the world. Something that straightforward…I can depend on it and I think I would rather have this for a moment than regret not acting on what I desire.”

Laurent wanted to argue with him. None of it was simple. It was _terrifying_.

“You are very kind. I have enjoyed traveling with you, Your Grace. And if you win the _Kallisti_ , it will be my honor to serve you then as well.”

“Ah…yes. If I win.” Laurent felt a bit cold then. He needed to stay focused, to remember that this was an alliance out of necessity. If he wanted to reclaim his throne, he needed to focus on winning or this was all for nothing. “Please, carry on, Pallas.”

He had expected to feel relieved upon making amends with Pallas, but now he felt a lingering sickness over the uncertainty of his future.

He could scarcely focus, could only nod, as he looked at Damianos over the map of Akielos. What if he lost? Would Damianos kick him out of Ios to find his own way home? Or would he at least have the decency to escort Laurent to the border? What would he do without the army? What would he have to give up to secure another one? Would it be to Patras? Or Vask? Or…the chopping block?

It took every ounce of Laurent’s Veretian façade to not appear unduly distressed throughout the night.

He was unable to relax during the dinner prepared by Paschal and Lydos, though he was vaguely aware of everyone around him doing a better job of socializing. Language barrier aside, most of them talked and laughed like they had been friends for ages. Laurent was never much of a dinner conversationalist to begin with and his men were not alerted to his secret panic when he only provided monosyllabic answers to questions.

When it came time to take out the light bedrolls they had purchased in case of camping out, Laurent took up a place where he could get an uninterrupted view of the stars, in hopes that it would distract him from what was on his mind.

He felt a shift of movement to his right and found himself looking up at Damianos in the process of unpacking his own gear.

“May I help you?”

“It’s better if no one sleeps on their own. Just in case.” His grin was chagrined as he laid his blanket parallel to Laurent’s. “And none of my men would ever take the liberty of sleeping by your side so…the task falls on my shoulders, since we are of a similar rank.”

Laurent made no further comment and continued to look up at the sky. He swore that the ground dipped under Damianos’ huge frame.

There was no conversation until the campfire burned down to embers and the only noise was the wind through the tall grasses. Laurent could not sleep, he was still staring unblinking at the stars.

“In Akielos, we say that women who die before their children are reincarnated as stars so that they can still watch over us.” He raised one dark forearm. “Since my mother was the queen…I always thought she was the most beautiful one. Right there.”

He was simple, no lies, no ulterior motives.

Laurent stared at his dark, honest face and he began to relax, against his better judgment. It was a pretty thought. Stars were the symbol of Laurent’s family; never once had he thought that his family could look down on him from the heavens. He almost wished they could not; surely they would sob when they saw what torture he had endured.

“You can’t sleep.” Damianos said gently, “Do you miss home?”

“No. I don’t,” Laurent responded immediately. “There is no home to miss. I can only think of the future. And I must consider what I will do if I do not win your _Kallisti_. I may have to go to Patras or—.”

Damianos interrupted, looking thunderstruck. “Where did you get this idea? You—Laurent…we have been traveling together for almost two months now. I have heard your stories and I have grown to care about…your cause. I…I never thought that…” he shook his head quickly, “No. No, no matter what the outcome of the _Kallisti_ , I will call the Akielon army to your aid. I won’t rest until I see you crowned king.” He did not sound like a man who was lying; Laurent, in fact, thought he might be incapable of lying.

“ _Why_?” Laurent slid forward, hoping to catch sight of Damianos’ expression in the low light. “I could play you false. I could travel with you all the way to Ios and betray you. And you will still promise me your army?” It was unthinkable. Surely, Damianos would want something else…

“You won’t betray me.” Damianos said with absolute certainty. “Because you are a good man. Honest and true. I have faith that we will win and take back your throne. Yo—It will be magnificent.”

It just a simple few moments of conversation, Damianos had completely assuaged most of Laurent’s fears. Damianos said it with such confidence, Laurent could practically feel the weight of the gold on his brow.

“I am going to win the _Kallisti_.” Laurent said, his voice raspy.

“I know you are.” Damianos shifted so he could look back at the sky. “I knew the moment I saw you…no one can dream of winning against you.” He smiled; Laurent knew his cheek would dimple, his eyes would be filled with stars…

He was simple. It was all so simple.

Laurent did it very quickly. He listened for any other conversation or movement, looked to see if anyone else was watching and—once feeling safe in their solitude—he got up to his elbows and moved before he could talk himself out of it. It was so easy to close that distance.

Damianos tensed with surprise as Laurent stopped, only a breath away. “No one can win against me.” Laurent murmured, feeling Damianos’ warm breath hit his bottom lip. Then he moved forward.

Kissing he always hated the idea of.

It was bodies violently pressed against walls and lips crushed together, silencing any protests. It was sloppy, wild and probing. But this was fine… He was just feeling the sensation of Damianos’ lips against his own, the warmth of those dark lips tingling through his own mouth and through his cheeks. Damianos was unmoving, letting him feel for the first few moments.

Then the smallest movement: opening and closing of lips in something akin to a very weak attempt at sucking. Very gentle, very soft, very slow.

Laurent closed his eyes to wallow in the sensation and try to mimic the motions. A large hand cupped the back of his head. Laurent moved closer to the pleasant sensation and the warmth. This wasn’t so bad at all…

When Damen hooked an arm around Laurent’s waist to pull him closer, Laurent let himself sink down. More than not so bad…this was very pleasant.


	9. Chapter 9 (Damianos)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 9\. 'Baby snakes are equally as venomous as adults but when they bite they pump in as much venom as they possibly can as a defense mechanism.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where were we last?  
> Oh yes, our boys were making out in a field by the light of the campfire. I love letting everything fall into place so quickly! And this chapter, even more 'fun'! We have another member joining the party; a baby snake, if you will ;)  
> Poor Nikandros, the end of this chapter you know he just wants to be at home, in bed, not having to worry about snow, Veretians, mercenaries, or Damen's wayward dick. Maybe someday bro...  
> Enjoy!

** Chapter 9 (Damianos) **

Damen was fucking confused.

He had taken Laurent of Vere to be an impenetrable stone fortress, a wall of ice. Having talked to his Prince’s Guard had only cemented that idea that Laurent rarely laughed, much less felt passion for anything more than revenge. Whenever Damen had been treated to a touch of skin it had been smooth, silky ice. It still didn’t save him from his admiration that, quite naturally, evolved into fondness and then into yearning, equal parts passion and devotion for this man who stood proud and alone above the reach of anyone.

Laurent had not let slip a single hint, not the soft flirtations or the sweet gestures often employed to give any indication that he favored Damen above a relationship of convenience.

So his surprise was endless when, as he had been trying to give Laurent a flicker of hope for the future, Laurent leaned up on his elbows so that he was hovering above Damen’s face. It was no tragedy; his face was lovelier than the view.

In the dying embers of the campfire he was bathed in flame, his ivory skin glowing orange in something that made him look warm. Even his dark blue eyes glittered like coals as they flicked up toward where the others were sleeping. Immediately, Damen knew that Laurent was checking to see if anyone was awake and watching.

Damen wondered for a moment why Laurent was being so cautious.

Then, without preamble, Laurent bent down and pressed his petal-soft lips against Damen’s. Damen was too astonished to move for several moments and simply let his mind work as Laurent kept his mouth there. As soon as Damen’s mind caught up with the situation at hand, he could instantly detect the kiss of a novice.

Laurent remained poised in the same position, his body trembling lightly as though he might bolt at any moment, but his lips did not move. He was green to this despite any attempts to appear otherwise.

But luckily, Damen was no stranger to kissing.

He was pleasantly surprised when, as he began moving his mouth, suckling on a full bottom lip, Laurent did not pull back. Instead, he leaned closer of his own accord, quivering from the feeling.

Clever Laurent was a quick learner.

Damen’s warm tongue flicked playfully against Laurent’s upper lip and Laurent’s breath hitched before he tried the exact same motion with more studious intent. He was starved for this, Damen realized. What with his lack of relationships and his tight restrictive clothes and all the damn cold, this young man pressed against his chest was as hungry for warmth and desire and touch as the most repressed virgin. And Damen was more than pleased to accommodate him.

He realized now that Laurent’s shyness was what caused him to check the others before daring to close the gap; he did not want anyone to see weakness in him. When Damen cupped the soft curve of the back of Laurent’s head, Laurent was all to willing to meld his body against Damen’s so he was completely invisible behind the wall of Damen’s torso. Damen’s free arm rested lightly on the dip of Laurent’s waist and his fingers traced the raised flesh on Laurent’s spine. Damen liked gentle caresses and was pleased to find that Laurent twitched and trembled with each light touch, every new sensation. Under the right conditions, this type of body would melt into love-drunk helplessness.

Laurent was a little breathless from kissing, his breath coming out a little raspy as their tongues explored with indiscriminate need. The front of him was heated now from being pressed against Damen’s warm body; one cool hand was resting on Damen’s bare chest, the other clinging to the cloth of his chiton.

More, more…Damen was drenched with the feeling of Laurent: the feel of his skin, the scent of his hair and of the clean linen, the sweet wetness of his lips…

They were hurtling along at a pace that Damen doubted they could sustain. If only they had the time, the privacy, then he could do justice by Laurent’s inexperience. How wonderful, he mused, would it be to cultivate this green shoot, watch it bud over and flower, bear fruit and melt into sweetness in his mouth?

It could have been hours or moments that they kissed, lost in each other’s mouths.

Laurent pulled back first, taking only a moment to catch his breath and compose himself. Even with his uneven hair, Laurent was far and away the most stunning person Damen had ever seen; he smiled as he cleared a long chunk away from Laurent’s eyes. It must have been something to see when it was long…

He looked like a young man who had been kissed fervently and enjoyed every second of it.

His cheeks were an orangey-pink in the dying light of the fire, his lips wet and slick like fruit, and his eyes hard and shiny and dark. If the judges in the _Kallisti_ could see him now…they would crown him champion without question.

But Damen was a private lover and it was unthinkable to let anyone else see Laurent in this state. It was meant for his eyes alone.

In one fluid motion he pulled Laurent back down beside him so he was shielded from view, though Laurent turned his head away in a clear cue that he was through kissing for the moment. Damen did not question him; it was a lot to process. And he was an excellent kisser.

“Why?” Damen whispered into Laurent’s lovely hair. He was now desperately searching back to every interaction they had ever shared, wondering if he had missed any cues, any hints. “Why did you kiss me, Laurent?”

Laurent rolled over so that his back was facing Damen, but he allowed Damen to drape his right arm across his hip. “Because I wanted to.”

He did not speak again for the rest of the night.

 

In the three days it took the group to ride into Sicyon, Damen forced himself to be more perceptive of Laurent’s demeanor in an effort to see if his icy façade gave away any outward indication of his feelings. It was no chore to look at Laurent in any case…

He was remarkably cool to Damen during the day, his cheeks flushed from the spring heat in Akielos, his demeanor as haughty as before, especially in front of the Prince’s Guard and the Lady Vannes.

But when he kissed he was as sweet and pliant as any young man had ever been. His body was both taut and limp at times as though he did not know what to do with the heat inside himself. He was a frighteningly fast learner and wicked with his cool, slippery tongue. Most recently Damen had had to wait an hour before his cock settled back into obedience after Laurent had kissed him with…hunger. That was the only way to describe it: Laurent was hungry for this intimacy.

They only kissed under the cover of nightfall and _only_ kissed.

Damen didn’t mind that. It took some time for people to open up and he didn’t mind taking things slow; Laurent was a prince in his own right and deserved that respect. But now he knew the true appeal of the _Kallisti_. The familiar sights of his homeland seemed just a little brighter, a little more beautiful when he could show them to Laurent. And Sicyon was a gem in its’ own right.

Damen had ridden abreast of Laurent and was explaining to him that Sicyon was responsible for the growth of wheat and olives and some of the finest livestock in Akielos. Laurent sounded incredibly interested by any facts Damen offered and even offered some questions in turn about the _kyros_ in these parts, the different kinds of olive oil produced, and the comparisons between Akielon and Veretian horses. Damen was touched by his genuine interest.

“He’s a clever boy, isn’t he?” Lady Vannes said one afternoon after taking Laurent’s place at Damen’s side. She was entirely too perceptive for Damen’s liking. “Prince Laurent. He’s been like that ever since he was a boy. Quick as a whip. And beautiful. God, he was pretty, wasn’t he Master Aimeric?”

Aimeric, riding double with Rochert a few paces behind them, did not respond but only blushed. Vannes smiled but her eyes narrowed like a cat’s.

“Perhaps we should ask Paschal to remove the stick from his ass at our next rest stop.”

“I’m pleased His Grace has taken an interest in Akielos.” Damen admitted. “Our kingdoms have gone so long without close interaction…it gives me hope for the future.”

“He could just be using you.” Vannes pointed out cruelly.

“He mentioned that.” Damen responded just as quick. “You sell him short.”

She gave him a long look. “I’m Veretian. Born and raised in the court. No one knows cruelty like we do. I sincerely hope you’re not wrong in your opinion.” Damen was astonished by her gall; if there was an Akielon woman in his company they would have challenged her for the insult…hell Aktis still might. But he kind of liked her brutal honesty. It reminded him of…

His gaze lingered on Laurent. “I know I’m not.”

Vannes just watched him, smiling.

When the sun was starting to get lower in the sky, Lazar and Lydos at the head of the company, signaled that there was someone else on the road in front of them. “It looks to be a merchant’s caravan, Exalted One. Though they haven’t moved since we first noticed them.” Lydos explained as Damen rode up next to them in concern for Laurent’s safety.

Lazar was only laughing, Pallas looking at him in confusion from where his arms were wrapped around Lazar’s lean waist.

“Be on your guard.” Damen insisted. He doubted mercenaries would have followed them this far south, but…it was better to play these things safe. “Let’s go and see what business they have here.”

Damen alerted Laurent and the others in their group as to the situation at hand and he couldn’t help but notice that Laurent placed a cursory hand on the hilt of his new sword. Perhaps today would be the day when he finally got some use out of it.

Upon riding closer, it became apparent why Lazar was laughing.

The merchant wagons—one of the first of the season, no doubt—were sunk fast in the soft mud of a nearby stream where they had set up camp. Veretian, obviously by the cut and style of their clothing, most were caked knee-deep in mud and red in the face from their useless efforts; aside from one strong man hired to shift and carry the heavy bolts of cloth, Damen doubted that most of these men lifted anything heavier than a pewter fork or a signing quill.

“If they’re mercenaries, they are making a very convincing show of it…” Damen remarked as Laurent took in the scene below him.

“Perhaps they mean to drown us in the mud.” Laurent pointed out in his driest tone.

The moment their group was within range, one man waved desperately in an attempt to flag them down. And although Damen would have liked for Laurent to stay in the relative safety of the crested hill, he refused to stay behind, though he did let the Akielons and Lazar ride up first in a human shield around him. The older man who had waved to get their attention nearly ran into Nikandros’ horse, he looked so grateful to see them.

“Thank god!” His Akielon was passable, if a bit more accented than Laurent’s, “We thought we would have to send Guilliame to walk to the nearest town to find some assistance. If you gentlemen wouldn’t mind—.”

His attentive eyes flicked over them with the quick, apprising speed of a practiced merchant; he took note of who was in charge, how they held themselves, the quality of everything: horses, weapons, bits and bridles, saddlebags, the type and expense of the cloth of their chitons. Every detail unfolded to his practiced eyes, more perceptive than a spy, more attuned to material goods than the greediest thief. He only looked startled upon seeing Lazar.

“You!” He gasped, pointing a stubby, mud-splattered finger.

Almost comedic, everyone whipped their heads to stare at Lazar, still laughing. Laurent’s hand clenched a spot near his hip where Damen knew the fang-sharp dagger was hidden, his dark eyes flashing with something like realization; even the men working on the caravan stopped what they were doing to look at Lazar.

“Do you know these men, Lazar?” Laurent’s voice had an edge to it and Damen was amazed Lazar didn’t cease laughing immediately.

“Yeah,” Lazar chuckled with complete unconcern, “I know them.”

Wild as he was, Lazar did not choose to elaborate on their acquaintance and instead allowed the silence to drag on until the merchant felt awkward enough to make introductions on Lazar’s behalf.

“Please allow me to make my introductions. My name is Charls. I am a cloth merchant from Vere and I regularly trade goods between my homeland and Akielos; one of the few, actually who still maintain trade with some of the _kyroi_.”

“I know who you are.” Laurent said calmly, giving him pause.

“Over by the wagon you see my assistant, Guilliame and our translators Alexos and Theodore. Your young…squire there,” Lazar laughed even harder upon being called a ‘squire’, “came into our acquaintance about two months ago while we were still in Vere, acquiring our stock for the spring. He was on an errand for the Prince of Vere—may he lie with the stars.”

Damen had to cough to keep from joining Lazar in his good humor; he found it ironic that people were wishing Laurent peace in death when he was standing right in front of them.

Laurent looked like he was remembering what errand he had sent Lazar on and a brief flash of horror and fury washed over his features before he could catch himself. This man Charls also was trying to connect information of his own: the quality of their belongings, Laurent’s appearance, Lazar who had gone on an errand for the Prince…

His face became mottled, white with shock and red from embarrassment.

“Your Highness?” He choked out at the same time as someone called out from inside the wagon, “Well, are they here to help or not?” There was a flash of movement from the front of the structure and a small head popped out from behind the red canvas cover.

At first Damen thought it was a young girl, perhaps the daughter or niece of Charls, thanks to the smooth, pearly skin, glossy dark curls, and wide blue eyes. But then he caught the bob of a tiny Adam’s apple from the thin neck and saw the cut of his clothing and realized that the young person in front of him was a very, very beautiful young boy. And the truth hit him too.

The former slave-boy caught sight of Laurent and his eyes became enormous. “ _You!_ ”

“Nicaise!” Jord gasped and the boy grinned wickedly.

“Your Highness!” Charls bowed quickly and probably would have knelt for shock and awe if not for the mud. Laurent ignored him in favor of glaring daggers at Lazar who was not upset in the least. “Lazar, you _son of a whore_!”

“No need to bring my mother’s profession into this, Your Highness.” Lazar said wiping his eyes.

“What is going on?” Pallas asked and Nikandros sighed as though his soul was leaving his body.

They came to an understanding not long after.

Rather than blocking the road for the foreseeable future, Laurent and Damen made the executive decision to wait by the caravan and have their men help to dig it out of the mud, but only after they got the entire story of how Nicaise ended up in a Veretian merchant’s wagon so deep in the heart of Akielos. Charls, still stunned over the revelation that his prince was alive, was more than happy to be sworn to secrecy and allowed the group to sit on a set of stools produced from the wagon’s interior and placed on a dry patch of land.

Nicaise joined them, lithe, leggy, and the only one not caked with mud, and Damen could see his origins now. The boy held himself with the sharp confidence and judgmental eyes of Laurent, and he was stunning. No one would know the hell he had endured…

Lazar explained when his laughter had subsided over the coincidence and Nicaise made frequent interjections of his own.

“So you told me to take him to Patras, get him on a ship or through the mountains, but my god, Lau—Your Highness, it was like someone was watching us. We weren’t more than half a day out when we started to see some of your uncle’s men. This little one was nervous like he had ants in his ass—.”

“I’m not little!” Nicaise interrupted, “And the…medicine was wearing off.”

“I told you my suspicions.” Lazar insisted and Damen felt eyes flick to Aimeric. _Ah_ , so there was a suspected spy in their numbers. That would certainly put everyone on edge… “And I felt it was too dangerous for us to try to go Patras through Vask. Our second day I had to kill a couple of your uncles’ men and we thought maybe we should double back to Kempt, but then…I heard you'd disappeared and maybe you were killed. I knew that couldn’t be the case but I felt you might need my assistance if your plan was escape.”

“You make it sound as though this was all some sort of grand plan,” Nicaise spat, “when we were just wandering around in the forest for the better part of a week.”

Lazar ignored him. “As you can see, he doesn’t shut up and when we happened to come across this caravan?” Lazar shrugged. “It seemed like a good enough cover. No one would think to look in a merchant wagon headed to Akielos for an escaped…pet. It’s worked out hasn’t it?”

Laurent was pinching the bridge of his nose in annoyance.

“Upon hearing that he was working for the Prince of Vere,” Charls piped up, “Of course I allowed him to join us.”

“He didn’t even try to fuck me.” Nicaise said lightly and Charls choked on his shock.

“I-I-I would _never_ —!”

Laurent stood, sending the conversation into a respectful hush, save for young Nicaise, who glared at him in open challenge. He exhaled to compose himself and his golden eyelashes brushed his cheek in a way Damen wished he could. Then he began to give orders as though he had not just been confronted with the cause of all of his problems.

The only man who looked unfazed by their orders—to strip down and help Charls’ men dig out the mud-encrusted wagon wheels—was Lazar, perhaps upon realizing that he would see Pallas slicked in mud and dressed in little more than a loincloth. In the meantime, Laurent took Nicaise by the elbow and dragged the furious boy to chat with him behind the wagon that was not stuck.

As Damen watched him go, he was aware of the stout form of Charls standing near his elbow, still recovering from having the ‘missing’ Prince of Vere visit him at his campsite.

Damen also got the feeling that Charls had no idea he was standing next to the Crown Prince of Akielos because when the man began to speak with him, it was with very informal speech and the opening line of: “And you are? Are you the Prince’s translator?” Damen just smiled at that and left Charls to make his own assumptions; if he had learned anything on his journey, it was that the less people knew about him, the more he would learn.

In this case, he was not disappointed. All it took was one well-timed question.

In between Charls waxing poetic about Laurent’s fine bearing and natural leadership skills, Damen finally managed to get a word in edgewise. “And what brings you so early to trade in Akielos?”

Charls puffed up at this, looking even more pleased than he had when Laurent had revealed himself to be the prince. “Normally we wouldn’t make the risk so early in the season but…some very profitable situations arose.” With a flourish, the man reached into the pocket of his waistcoat and removed a letter from within. “Apparently there is a royal competition to be held in the capital of Akielos and I was personally invited to bring my stock to Ios from the Crown Prince Damianos himself.”

Nikandros, who was standing nearby, shot Damen a look of concern. Damen raised an eyebrow, hoping that Nikandros would see that he had sent no such letter.

But as Damen gently took the letter and looked at it, he was thunderstruck. It was his handwriting—perhaps a little neater than usual—and his seal stamped in the hardened red wax, as he supposedly outlined exactly the color and weave of the bolts of cloth he wanted delivered to Ios.

It took him a moment to think of when he might have sent a letter without realizing it.

“That golden snake…” Nikandros whispered under his breath, seeing what Damen saw.

And Damen knew as soon as Nikandros did. He remembered the messenger outpost when Laurent watched him write—no, watched his handwriting and copied it to almost perfection. Then borrowing the seal…

Damen was a bit breathless at his foresight.

Charls kept prattling on, all while Damen and Nikandros read. One bolt of crimson Kemptian silk, hemmed in gold, Veretian brocade in three shades of blue, two bolts of linen, one black one white, with a very specific pattern and instructions for what they should be made into when they reached Ios…

Damen was interrupted from reading when he heard Charls say something he hated.

“What was that?” He looked up, Nikandros reaching out and catching the letter before it fell to the dirt. Charls looked a bit shocked and Damen tried to make his expression less angry. “What did you just say?”

“Th-that even the Regent of Vere has been invited by Prince Damianos to Ios for the occasion. I can only imagine his surprise and delight when he finds his nephew alive and well in—.”

“The Regent of Vere is coming to Ios.” Damen breathed, looking at Nikandros.

“At _your_ request.” Nikandros said pointedly. They both knew it was not at his request. There had been a second letter, stamped in red…sent out nearly a month ago. That was plenty of time to prepare a court to sail across the sea to Ios…

“I’ll be right back.” Damen said.

It only took a few strides to take him to the opposite side of the wagon close to the river where Laurent and Nicaise were having a discussion of their own. Nicaise was arguing furiously, his arms waving in skinny white circles as Laurent stared with his arms crossed. It was like watching a fox kit try to reason with a leopard.

However, as he got closer, he could hear Nicaise’s childish voice. “I want to go with you! Don’t leave me with these fools who plod at the same pace and tell the same stories every goddamn night. We’re all going to Ios anyway. Take me with you!”

“Nicaise…Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’ll be safer with you!” Nicaise hissed. “You know…you _know_ they’re following you, even in Akielos. H-He’s coming…you know? I bet you did it, didn’t you?”

“I told you, I didn’t know you would be here.” Laurent’s voice was level but Damen could tell he was unnerved by Nicaise being in Akielos. “He won’t take you back Nicaise. I told you, he wouldn’t.”

“Let me come with you.” Nicaise was insistent. “You can fight. Keep me safe. Don’t leave me—.”

They stopped their heated conversation as Laurent looked up and saw Damen come into view. Nicaise whirled and glared at Damen. Even in his fury, he was gorgeous. He glanced between Damen and Laurent, head whipping back and forth before he turned back to Laurent.

“I’m coming with you. If I have to tie myself to your horse I will. If I have to tell your giant animal here about—.”

“I speak Veretian, you know.” Damen pointed out in Veretian. “And that’s Your Giant _Highness_ to you.” Laurent choked a little bit and Nicaise narrowed his big blue eyes before stomping off to where everyone else was hard at work. Despite his filthy mouth, he was a child through and through. When he and Laurent were alone, Damen smiled in acceptance. “I suppose we’ll be adding another member to our group?”

Laurent sighed, allowing himself a rare moment of honest emotion. “This will complicate things.”

But Damen could see it in Laurent’s indecision; if someone were following them, they would find Nicaise. It was a huge gamble, and one Laurent had already lost so much over. But Charls and his men didn’t look like the fighting type and Laurent only seemed to trust himself. Damen had the distinct feeling that someone was going to have the ‘pleasure’ of riding double with the little spitfire.

Damen gingerly walked over to where Laurent was standing.

So much of his lovely body was on display, Damen’s mouth went dry when he remembered the first time he saw Laurent in a chiton. Those long white legs, the spots of pink across his skin…Damen felt bad for staring, but it seemed a waste not to appreciate a work of art.

With deliberation, Damen picked up Laurent’s left hand, cradling his wrist before pressing his lips to the thin skin of Laurent’s wrist. The pulse pumped hard and fast and Laurent yanked his arm back; Damen was pleased to see a blush on Laurent’s cheeks when he looked up.

“Don’t _do_ that!” Laurent hissed. “Not when everyone can see.”

“Yes, everyone.” Damen said jokingly motioning to the empty space surrounding them. Laurent did not see the humor in it.

He wrapped himself in his own arms as if to protect himself. “If they see…if Vannes sees…”

Damen stayed silent but he did not push forward again. Apparently, there was something he was missing that was causing Laurent undue stress. He took a moment before launching into his next gentle accusation.

“I see you’ve taken the liberty of inviting people to Ios on my behalf.”

“Charls,” Laurent’s blue eyes flicked up and he did not look at all contrite.

“You are very good at copying handwriting.” Damen said, “I can understand Charls but why did you invite your uncle to Ios?”

Laurent took a moment and began to walk over to the tail end of the wagon, walking inside before telling Damen what was on his mind. “My uncle knows very little about Ios and Akielos. I’m sure he doesn’t know that your word is law on this soil and I’m positive he doesn’t know I’ve been traveling with you.” Laurent’s elegant fingers stroked the fine rolls of cloth stacked expertly within. “We’ve killed anyone who might realize otherwise. I can trap him here…I think.”

“You need my help with that as well?” Damen watched as Laurent stiffened.

Instead of answering, Laurent pulled out a length of black cotton that had a Veretian pattern on it. Damen could tell it was Veretian because Akielon clothes favored simple patterns around the hems of the clothes while Veretian styles covered the entire garment and were very complex. This cloth was covered in shimmering gold that formed a pattern of scales when it hit the light correctly. It looked like something a wealthy woman would wear to a funeral.

Laurent took a pair of cloth shears and cut a long, thin length of the fabric.

“Yes…help me tie this. If that cheeky brat is coming with us, I had better continue to hide who I am.”

Damen took the length of cloth and wrapped it easily—though not without regret—over Laurent’s golden hair. The impromptu black scarf looked so strange with the white chiton but Damen was unable to help himself as Laurent turned.

Lips wet, eyes wide, Laurent simply threw his arms around Damen’s neck as Damen pushed him up into the shelves of cloth, kissing as though it would be their last time. Laurent breathed hard whenever he opened his mouth and one leg hitched up on Damen’s hip; Damen slid one hand up under the scarf to cup the fine, thin neck hidden beneath, while the other hand slid up Laurent’s extended leg. He was beginning to seriously consider the logistics of making love inside a wagon when Laurent disengaged, pulling himself out of Damen’s hands.

“You’ve made your decision then?”

There was a triumphant voice that came from outside the entrance and Damen found himself leveled with the sharp gaze of Nicaise. He looked unblinking at Laurent, his smile wide and wicked.

Laurent took a deep breath, smoothing his appearance, his cheeks becoming devoid of any and all blush before he pushed his way out of the wagon. Damen knew he looked like a disheveled mess, but he was not about to be intimidated by a young boy.

Nicaise looked up at him. “So you’re the one who’s fucking the Prince of Vere.”

Damen did not dignify his crude statement with a response and Nicaise was not willing to let things lie.

“Is that his price then?” Nicaise asked as Damen attempted to pass him through the narrow doorway. “His asshole for a kingdom?”

“You shouldn’t talk about him like that.”

“Or what? You’ll me push me up against the wagon?” Nicaise sneered, obviously undeterred by Damen’s superior size and strength. “Or is he trading it to you for something else. Is he—?”

Damen whirled on the boy and felt a little illicit satisfaction in seeing a drop of panic in those deep blue eyes. Then he felt bad about it; he was past the age to scare children. “Listen to me. If we’re going to be spending any amount of time together in the next fortnight, I’ll ask you to refer to Prince Laurent with some level of deference and I’ll allow you to ride on the back of a horse rather than being dragged behind it. Second, if you mention what you just saw take place in this wagon to anyone else in our group, I’ll make sure you ride in it the rest of the way to Ios. Does that sound agreeable to you?”

Nicaise’s smile looked more like a snarl. “Oh, I suppose he’s _not_ fucking you then. Uptight as you are…Perhaps you should relieve yourself into the river, while you’re alone.”

“Cool your head first.”

Nikandros came up to Damen as soon as he rejoined the group. Laurent was inspecting the newly freed wagon from where it sat on the road and Lydos, Aktis, and Pallas were currently soaked in mud and enjoying a celebratory drink with Charls’ and Laurent’s men.

“Is everything all right, Damianos? Did he tell you why he is bringing that…” Nikandros looked as though he was debating on finding a word intense enough to convey his displeasure but diplomatic enough to be used should they actually meet the man, “reprobate into Ios?”

“In a manner of speaking.” Damen admitted. “He’s hoping Akielon law will prevail in this case…”

Nikandros looked at Damen who was looking at Laurent. “What have you done this time?”

Damen smiled over at Nikandros, bracing himself for a wave of familiar displeasure. He could already hear the concerns being voiced. “We are…going to have another _addition_ to our group.”

“Not…” Nikandros breathed.

“Yes, him.” Damen gestured behind him.

Nikandros took a deep sigh to steady himself as he faced the furious form of Nicaise. His brown curls were plastered against his forehead and his sopping wet clothes stuck to his skinny little body. He looked a lot like an angry cat who had been left out in the rain. Damen smiled remembering his angry little squawk as he had sailed through the air and into the shallow creek. Apparently he did not enjoy his swim.

“Nikandros, you’ve met Nicaise. Nicaise, Nikandros. We’ll be riding out in the morning.”

 


	10. Chapter 10 (Laurent)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 10\. 'Male snakes become more aggressive when it becomes time to mate.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good god, I hope you guys are buckled in for a wild ride at this chapter. It starts off so innocent: Laurent is admiring Damen's beef and then...  
> Well, you'll just have to read and find out! Things start going crazy and I'm interested to hear what you guys think of thise chapter. Also one setting in this is directly inspired from a movie so I guess it's another cheesy bit I've thrown in to add to the drama!  
> Enjoy!

** Chapter 10 (Laurent) **

Laurent was still reeling.

He could scarcely believe it himself. But Nicaise could not be left with Charls and the merchants. Not with who he was. Not with what he knew…

Laurent felt guilty forcing this constantly on Damianos and for not telling him about his plan to bring Uncle into the heart of Ios, but he had to push his guilt to the side for the sake of Vere. For a moment he dared to let himself hope for the future. The further south they went without incident, the more he allowed himself to think that maybe, just maybe he could pull this gamble off.

He had a group of men (and one woman) around him whom he trusted to some extent, someone—the only one aside from Auguste—who promised him the world, and some leverage against his uncle. At least now he knew why he had been sentenced to death only very recently. It was dangerous to hope but he allowed it, if only briefly.

They stayed with Charls and his caravan only one night while Rochert nursed a twisted ankle from slipping in the mud.

Laurent fought down any annoyance with the heated memory of the kiss in the wagon. He cursed himself for allowing Damen to press him against the shelves and not offer an ounce of resistance. But it was so wonderful, the feeling of someone warm and gentle hold him and kiss him like he wanted to get drunk on the feeling; Laurent couldn’t help himself and watched the dark, handsome form through the sparks of the campfire.

More often than not, his gaze was returned with eyes glowing like coals.

Sometimes he was forced to look to away due to being so flustered or the eagle eyes of Nicaise. But when Damianos stood and declared himself ready to rest, prying eyes be damned, Laurent stood immediately to join him.

This time it was Damen’s turn to be pushed up against the side of the wagon and kissed until he was breathless.

These chitons left little to the imagination, and Laurent let his hands wander over the solid arms and the firm planes of the chest, ignoring the hardness that was pressing against his lower stomach. Damen did not press his arousal and seemed pleased to let Laurent explore as he liked.

His skin was warm and smooth as those dark stones that had been washed up by the sea, pulsing and twitching under Laurent’s touch.

Laurent was not quite content to let go, so when they sprawled out on their shared blanket Laurent pressed himself up against Damen. His hand rested directly above that strong, healthy heartbeat, his right leg draped between Damen’s legs causing his chiton to ride dangerously high. That he would be so bold…

Laurent’s heart was pounding in his throat over it all as Damen began to speak with him. His voice was so soothing up close; he had forgotten, not having ridden together for some weeks. Like a deep stringed instrument, mellow and warm…god, he was warm all over.

Laurent was becoming addicted to this.

“I’ll instruct the inspectors of the city to have them directed to the palace, where they can prepare everything to your exact orders,” Damen said, in between kissing the top of Laurent’s head, “We will win.”

“We cannot let anyone know that they have traveled with us.”

“Charls doesn’t even know who I am.” Damianos said with utter sincerity and a touch of amazement. Confident as he was, he expected his reputation and size to precede him. “He seems loyal to you and has sworn himself to secrecy. It’s safer for them if we ride ahead. We’ll ride along the border of Mellos and Dice so that they won’t arouse suspicion.”

Laurent agreed with him. Everything he need was in those wagons and by the time they reached Ios he would be prepared for the _Kallisti_. At this point, the merchant caravan would only slow them down and Laurent hoped that Charls and his men would arrive only a day or two after they did. They would be safe, everything was going smoothly.

So the next morning, Laurent’s only major concern was Nicaise.

Not one for long goodbyes, as usual, he barely thanked Charls, Guilliame, Alexos and Theodore for carting his ungrateful and—thanks to Paschal—healed ass out of Vere. They, on the other hand, seemed genuinely sorry to see him go; devoid of other company, perhaps even someone as saucy as Nicaise would be missed and worried over.

It was unsurprising that not many of the men wanted to share a horse with him. Maybe Lydos or Aktis, calm as they were could be ordered to ride double with him. It was an added bonus that they did not speak Veretian.

But any worries were put to rest when Vannes, of all people, led her horse up to Nicaise. “All right you tiny bitch, you’re going to ride with me today.”

Nicaise looked at her coldly, a fierce kitten staring down a crafty queen. “I wasn’t aware you were interested in riding boys.” Laurent smiled as he got onto his horse. It was so odd to hear such Veretian exchanges in the heart of Akielos. It was going to be a close fight but…his money was on Vannes.

“You sound enough like a girl that I might actually mistake you for one.” Vannes said, deadpan. “Now get on this horse. And think again before you open your dirty mouth. There’s a convenient creek and an absolutely enormous prince that can wash it out for you. Your choice.”

Damianos heard the last bit of Vannes’ jab and his broad shoulders shook with silent laughter as he adjusted the straps of his bridle.

Nicaise was clearly grinding his teeth over wanting to say something saucy in response, but apparently he decided that Vannes would make good on her word and actually have Damianos toss him in the river again. He allowed Vannes to help him up into the saddle and she settled in behind him.

“We will meet again in Ios!” Charls said as he waved violently from his vantage point on the spring seat of his wagon. “Safe travels to you all, Your—friends who I have never met before this day!”

Damianos truly looked as though he was going to explode before he got far enough away to laugh.

As soon as they were over the crest of the hill, he threw back his head and burst into laughter. It was infectious and Laurent found himself smiling as he watched Damianos dimple in delight.

These were dangerous feelings…good humor, hope…love…

 

As they entered Mellos, Laurent noticed a change of scenery from the rolling hills and wide, open farming plains of Sicyon. They were bordering on Patras now and the hills were turning back into the thicker forests. If it wasn’t so warm, Laurent might have thought they were in the south of Vere again.

Vannes and Nicaise bickered almost non-stop from the moment they left Charls’ company and Laurent avoided getting caught in the crossfire by riding next to Damianos and Nikandros and listening to them talk at length about the _kyros_ of Mellos and his penchant for watering down his wine when the guest was anyone other than royalty.

“Does he have any dealings with Patras?” Laurent asked.

“Only small merchants around the border,” Damianos admitted, “And some water merchants in the ports of Ios. I imagine your relationship to them would be closer. Akielos has been…a bit closed off from international affairs since the time of my great-grandfather. I hope to change that…”

“You and I both.” Laurent said lightly and was rewarded with a smile that warmed him to the tips of his toes.

To be honest, Vere has not had much contact with the other nations either. Akielos they considered to be barbarians and their history was rife with conflict when it came to Patras; Vask was on neutral ground but…those women were even wilder than the Akielons. Remembering Damianos’ smile, Laurent found that he was actually excited at the prospect of re-establishing relations between Vere and Akielos.

“Mellos is also renowned for the beautiful waterfalls that flow through these hills.” Damianos mentioned. Laurent raised one eyebrow by way of expressing interest. “Perhaps…when all of our ordeals are over, I could take you to see them…”

Laurent thought for a moment and felt his earlobes getting hot and pink. “I…think I’d like that…”

As they rode along the edge of the forest, Rochert pointed out a small lake in the distance, a perfectly round blue disc sat at the bottom of the hill.

“Should we stop to rest the horses, Your Highness?”

“Yes! Let’s rest!” Nicaise shouted. “I’m tired of sitting on this horse! My ass hurts and I want to walk around.”

They weren’t going to reach Ios until midsummer if they continued at this rate, but Nicaise kept bitching and it was clear he had no intent to stop unless they stopped ad stretched their legs for a short while. Damianos smiled as though he could see everything that Laurent was thinking in that moment.

“Fine. We’ll stop for fifteen minutes and no more.”

As soon as they arrived at the shores, Nicaise leapt off of the horse and sprinted towards the forest clearing, the pouch Laurent had given him so long ago bouncing against his thin chest. It gave Laurent a momentary jolt of panic; death in a bag.

“Don’t wander off too far!” He shouted, but Nicaise merely laughed in response. Irritation. “Aimeric, go watch him.” Laurent ordered and Aimeric trotted off dutifully, his brow already furrowed in concern. It was so much simpler when it was just Laurent and his small contingent of Akielons…

As Laurent crouched down and scooped a handful of cool water to pat on his neck, he thought about his talk with Nicaise the previous afternoon.

The boy brought one leather bag with him, the entire thing stuffed with glittery baubles: gold bangles and rings, bells the size of large grapes made of pounded silver, and huge sapphires on thin chains to start his life anew in Ios or wherever it was he ended up. He also confessed to a few papers, the empty medicine pot, and the gauzy nightgown. It was still covered in his blood from that night.

Before Damianos had appeared and interrupted their conversation, Nicaise had admitted that he held no regrets about his escape and had looked with some guilt at Laurent’s hair and his disheveled appearance. Maybe that was why he could be so honest…they were in the same situation with how far they had fallen from grace.

Aimeric still hadn’t returned with the snarling boy in tow.

“Damianos,” Laurent called over his shoulder and Damen looked over from where he was stroking his horse’s mane as he drank, “If they’re not back by the time we’re ready to leave, I give you permission to throw Nicaise in this lake.”

Damianos brightened immediately. “Duly noted.”

Laurent smiled back, in spite of himself and took a moment to bask in his surroundings, listening to the gentle rustle of the leaves and…

How he heard it was inexplicable, but perhaps it was the adrenaline that immediately pumped through his bloodstream that helped him launch his body backwards just in time. There was a shout and Damianos was beside him in a moment as Laurent stared at the arrow, still quivering from where it was stuck in the ground. Laurent’s torso had been in that spot only a moment before.

All around him, swords and bows were being drawn in his defense and Laurent felt his hand reach for his hidden dagger.

 _Aimeric_. His mind moved quickly. He knew his men suspected a spy—hell, he felt like there could be a turncoat in his numbers—but he had not once suspected Aimeric. What purpose did he have betraying the cause now? Did he have a change of heart? If so, why? And Nicaise?

Laurent scrambled to his feet as he saw movement from the tree trunks. A flash of jade green; if he hurt Nicaise, Aimeric was a dead man.

“ _Don’t move_!”

Laurent breathed in relief without meaning to as he saw Aimeric trembling, his eyes wide as an arrow was trained at his temple. He walked very slowly, the man following him watching very closely.

“Shit,” Someone—probably Jord—hissed under his breath. Not a betrayal then.

“Don’t move!” The man shouted again. “Or—“

“ _Yes,_ we heard you the first time,” Laurent shouted back. “Now if you would kindly move forward so we need not shout!” The man looked flabbergasted and Laurent took the moment of silence to continue. “Where is the small angry boy who was accompanying the young man you have now?”

It took a moment, but the man jerked his head after a short moment and more people began to emerge from the trees. They were mercenaries, judging by the poor and mismatched quality of their clothing and weapons but they had some advantages. By Laurent’s count, there were at least two dozen men—unless there were more hidden in the forest—some on horseback, all with bows drawn and one was dragging the unusually obedient form of Nicaise. The fact that he was not spitting fire was probably due to the long knife pressed tight against his skinny white neck.

Laurent took quick stock of the situation.

They were outnumbered, possibly in greater numbers if more men were hiding in the cover of the trees, these men had bows and arrows for long distance fighting, and they had two hostages. The two hostages were most concerning.

Damen moved a bit so that he would be able to block Laurent from the arrows, but it had the opposite effect. Now most of the bows were trained on them and it was pandemonium.

“ _Don’t move!_ ” Came the chorus of angry yells. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Aimeric panicked and began to chant it desperately. “I’ll kill him!” Yelled the man who had Nicaise in his arms and Nicaise found his voice, “ _Fuck_! Stop it! That _hurts_! Laurent! Laurent, _help me_!” He started off furious but by the end his voice broke and Laurent felt his heart skip a beat. Shit…

“Damen, don’t move.” Laurent hissed. “Just… _wait_.”

“I’ll _kill_ them.” Damen responded, his voice low and dangerous.

“I can’t wait to see it.” Laurent responded. “But for right now…”

They snapped to attention as the supposed leader called out to them. “Listen to me, you whore for Akielos,” Laurent could feel white-hot rage pouring off of Damen, “tell your dogs to lay down their weapons. I am going to ride over to present you with my terms and if any one of you makes an attempt on my life…my men will kill those two,” Aimeric turned almost as green as his chiton, “and then open fire on you.”

“You heard him,” Laurent said smoothly, thankful that his dagger was hidden from sight, “put them down.”

Jord was the first to toss his sword aside, never tearing his eyes away from Aimeric as he did so. Damen translated for the Akielons and they obeyed his orders almost immediately. Even Vannes, as stubborn as she was, buried the tip of her epee in the soft mud of the lakeshore. Damen was the last one to throw his weapon aside but he refused to move from where he was.

The moment they were all weaponless, the leader of the mercenaries cantered over to where Laurent and Damen were standing. He ignored Damen—possibly a fatal mistake—in favor of glaring down at Laurent. Laurent returned it; his was better, he had almost seven years of practice perfecting his ice-cold glare.

“I know who you are, Laurent of Vere.” He dismounted and stood eye-to-eye with Laurent. He seemed confident but his sword was still drawn. He was not a complete fool. “Let’s talk frankly. There’s a price on your head and it’s gone up…significantly. To be honest, I’m sure there’s a coin or two in the little one as well though…I believe the orders were to bring him back alive.”

Laurent felt himself tremble with fury but he forced himself not to move or break eye contact.

“Here’s my proposal,” With his free hand the mercenary captain ripped the scarf down around Laurent’s neck and rough hands jerked Laurent’s chin up. Damen sounded like he was choking on his indignation; Laurent was sure only twenty arrows trained at his broad chest were keeping him from tearing this man’s head from his shoulders, “You’re worth more alive. If you come with us without a fuss, if you _behave_ ,” his dirty thumb pushed into Laurent’s mouth as if to indicate exactly what he was meant to behave for and Laurent ached to bite it off, “then I’ll leave all your men alive. I’ll even leave the pretty brat.”

“If not?” Laurent jerked his head away, freeing his mouth.

The man smiled. “Then I’ll have my men open fire. I’ll cart your corpse back to Vere and those two will accompany us in your place.” His eyes were deep with greed and lust and it left no question as to what would happen to Aimeric and Nicaise if he refused.

He considered for a moment.

If they fought, almost assuredly all of them would die and Aimeric and Nicaise…he felt those cold invisible hands, like ice and snow trailing down his lower back, over and between his buttocks. He felt it like sickness.

Instead, he thought of the other option. This man could be lying to him and everyone’s life could be forfeit if he was wrong. But if he wasn’t lying…

Laurent felt the hilt of Auguste’s dagger, cold and hard on his abdomen. Maybe he could escape? If they tied his hands in front of him he could saw through the ropes. The ride back to Arles would take some weeks if they planned to cut through Patras and Vask. There would be ample opportunities for him to escape. A thousand other scenarios, none of them pleasant, jumped to his mind but he forced them down. Problems for a later date. He had made up his mind.

The main issue now was Damen.

Right now he was staring at the leader of the mercenaries without blinking; like a maddened dog, any movement might set him off in attack. Every muscle was coiled tight as a spring. Laurent glanced over and felt…a lot of different things. Regret was the prevailing feeling.

He turned to Damen, uncaring that he might be shot. There were so many things he still needed to say…

He memorized the features of Damen’s face, the one that haunted him, wondering if it would be the last time they would ever see each other. He hated that…remembering Auguste, he never knew when would be the last time, whether or not his possible last words would convey the depth of what he felt. He needed more time and he cursed himself for only realizing the fact now. His eyes flicked back and forth drinking in Damen’s appearance, one last happiness he would allow himself.

Laurent moved forward, crushing his lips up against Damen’s warm cheekbone, uncaring of who saw. “Take Nicaise as your _kallisti_. Protect Nicaise and my men. Don’t…let my uncle get away with this.” He pulled back to see Damen’s eyes wide with shock. Now was the time…he needed to say it as it rested on the tip of his tongue. This could be his last chance…

But he couldn’t do it.

Taking advantage of Damen’s shock, Laurent pushed him back with all his strength and did not look back as he walked over to the mercenary captain. Wordlessly, he extended his arms in front of him and tried to make his whole body ice as the captain leered at him.

“Good choice, Your Highness.”

A thin cord was produced and Laurent breathed a small sigh of relief as his hands were tied in front of him. He did not give the satisfaction of a flinch as the cord cut into the skin of his wrist.

“ _Laurent_!” Damen had regained his senses and Laurent looked over just in time to see an arrow embed itself in the dirt at Damen’s feet. The Akielons took a half step towards their prince. Laurent’s heart stopped and he froze to keep his expression flat. He tried not to see as Damen implored him. “ _Laurent_ …”

“Don’t let him get away with this…” Laurent whispered and he felt himself being hoisted up onto the back of a horse. He held himself very still as a body pressed up against his back and a rough hand squeezed the bare skin just above his knee. He hoped…if he could not escape beforehand, that this foul touching would be over quickly.

“Get comfortable, it’s going to be a long ride.” The man said as he nudged his horse into a trot.

“How did you find me?” Laurent hissed.

“Oh, I almost forgot.” The horse was pulled to a halt and they circled back a little so that they were facing Laurent’s men. He could not look at Damen; most of his men were torn between anger and panic, sorrow and defeat. They had gotten so close…hope was a dangerous thing…

“We’ll tell him that you’ve helped us. You had better leave, before they kill you.”

Heads whipped around to face the intended recipient of this comment and Laurent felt his lungs seize up. It wasn’t Aimeric. Aimeric hadn’t betrayed him; but Rochert was staring at him, white-faced, but with a grim sort of determination in his eyes and the set of his jaw. This betrayal was painful, a chip of ice in his chest, but Laurent refused to let it show. He clenched his jaw, hoping he looked coolly enraged.

“Your Highness—.”

“You did this.” Laurent said, his body numb. He remembered everything. “You ratted out Lazar. You sent word to these men in Knossos. You ‘hurt’ yourself yesterday to buy time.” His ‘loyal’ guard.

Rochert took up the closest horse and he ignored all others, baffled in fury and betrayal, in favor of Laurent. He looked truly distraught. “He has my nephew, Your Highness.” He admitted, closing his eyes for the pain. _He_ …Uncle was always two steps ahead, always had a contingency. “My nephew is seven. Almost eight…I-I _had_ to.” Rochert knew as well as anyone what happened to boys like that. Laurent heard the desperation in his voice; he knew that desperation all too well. The anger left him in a rush and left only hollow sadness behind.

“So you’ve killed me.” He murmured.

Rochert, loyal Rochert who had kissed Laurent’s fingers while his own hands trembled, who had sworn undying loyalty, and talked endlessly of a better life, took one last pleading look at Laurent and nudged his horse into a run up over the hill and out of sight.

Laurent’s whole body stiffened as he felt lips on his neck and his eyes watered from not blinking.

“Let’s go, Your Highness.”

Laurent refused to look back, but as they got close to the trees, he heard screaming. When he turned back, he saw Nicaise’s bare legs kicking the air in desperation as the man holding him attempted the throw him onto the back of a horse. “ _Liar_! You _liar_! Stop! Let me go! You promised! Laurent! _Laurent_!” These mercenaries were double-crossing him.

They were almost in the safety of the trees and most of the men had remounted and put their bows away, Aimeric left kneeling on the grass. Laurent’s men would be on them in moments. He reacted instinctively.

The dagger was ripped out of his waistband without hesitation and he twisted in the seat so he could get a proper shot. Before any of the mercenaries knew what was happening, the dagger sliced through the air and embedded itself in the throat of the man attempting to kidnap Nicaise. Laurent was a good shot.

Chaos erupted.

The last Laurent saw was the dead man falling to the ground with a crunch, Nicaise scrambling back towards the lake and the horse screaming and rearing as everyone started yelling. Laurent jerked as the mercenary captain spurred his horse into the thick undergrowth, branches whipping at his cheeks. They rode as if someone were chasing them.

The man cursed at Laurent under his breath. “Crafty slut. Veretian bitch. Hiding a little fang were you? Going to try something? Well I’m going to check you when we make camp. I’m going to check you _thoroughly_. You won't hide anything else from me, you cast-iron whore. We’re going to get to know each other very well, so get ready. You men! The four of you circle back!”

Laurent watched the green of Akielos crash around him and found he had no regrets for his actions. Yes, he had lost possible route of escape, one way to defend himself, but Nicaise was safe. He could find a way out of this…maybe.

For a moment, he hoped for rescue and then bit it back.

Auguste was dead, his men back at the lake, and Damen…Damianos had listened to his every request without protest. What made this instance any different?

No…Laurent could expect no help. His luck had finally run out.

 

Two or three hours later, and he was deep in the forest in a clearing, which he took to be their camp for the evening.

Currently he was tied by his waist and his neck to the trunk of a tree that even Damianos could not hope to tear from the earth. He found it preferable to his first few moments in the camp; the captain made good on his word and groped Laurent within an inch of his life, explaining in graphic detail what was going to happen to him when they retired for the evening, all for the sake of ‘looking for concealed weaponry’.

He had scored a small victory that could pay off in the long run by spreading dissent amongst the ranks.

The two men who had tied him to the tree—and were also very handsy—had listened very intently as he told them the likelihood that they would be tried and convicted for his murder before they could spend a single copper of the reward money. He knew his uncle. He knew that this would be too convenient.

They had remained silent and impassive as he spoke, but he watched them afterwards. Watched as they whispered in concern to each other and their comrades. Watched as they approached their captain. Watched the shouting match that followed. Given a week he could have these men at each other’s throats. It would not save him from being assaulted but…maybe he could survive this.

For now he watched the sky turn the vivid blue of late afternoon and focused on making his body as unfeeling as a block of ice. It took him longer than he remembered…it had been a while…

It was even harder as Damianos’ face kept jumping to mind; his coal-dark eyes and the way they bored into him, the gentle ministrations of his hands and the taste of his lips…

It made it hard for him to remain a solid block of ice.

He twitched whenever one of the mercenaries came too close, a contingent of them walking past to go find food. This simply would not do…

“Princess, princess.” Came the horrible sing-song voice that pierced through the fog of his thoughts. Automatically, he forced himself to scowl as the mercenary crouched to be on his level, smiling lewdly. “I’m going to tell you exactly what’s going to happen over our next few days together. You’re going to be fucked within an inch of your life,” Laurent clenched his whole body tight as a hand slid up the curve of his inner thigh. It stopped in between his legs and tugged at the fabric between, “And then, when we’re through, we’ll sell what’s left of you at the border of Patras and Vask.”

“Assuming I don’t outsmart you first.” Laurent said lightly, ignoring the unwelcome hand trying to worm its’ way past his underwear. “In which case, we might have to revise your plan.”

Only years of practice kept him from making a noise of distress as the intruding fingers found their way inside the cloth. His mouth was glued shut but his body shivered in spite of his best efforts.

“Let’s see how cocky you are after a long night of me—.”

The fingers fell away abruptly and Laurent gasped as a spray of red splattered on his face and his chiton. The mercenary fell dead at his feet, a familiar gold-scaled handle jutting out from the back of his neck. Hell of a throw.

A huge dark form sprung from the safety of the forest, slicing down two more men before the rest could even comprehend what happened. Laurent could scarely trust his own eyes with what was in front of him. Damen’s face was a bright mask of fury as he brandished his sword and began to fight, and what a fighter he was. Laurent was caught up watching the sheer power of the man; an elbow the face was surely a concussion with his raw power, he was nimble and graceful for how big he was, and he sheared through the mercenaries with terrifying efficiency. Laurent had never seen an equal fighter…nor one who fought with such savage grace.

For a moment, Laurent wondered if he had planned to single-handedly slaughter the entire encampment.

Arrows from the trees answered that question, taking a few in the leg or the arm when they came at Damen from behind. A rush of euphoria; Damen was not alone…but he was still vastly outnumbered.

Laurent began to strain against the ropes binding him to the tree, reaching his arms out for the dagger that was so tantalizingly close, but just out of reach. His fingers trembled but the rope around his neck was too tight. His vision started to go a little white.

A whistling sound of an arrow and the rope frayed, falling slack, from where it hit. His next breath was painful coming in but his reaching hands found that familiar hilt and he ripped it out in one tug.

“Your Highness!” A familiar voice carried over the sounds of battle, “Are you alright?”

Of course Lazar had come with Damen. No one else could track like he could, no one else in his guard knew the forest so well. Laurent decided never again to chastise him for fucking so loudly.

“I’m in one piece aren’t I?” He shouted back, beginning to saw through the rope at his neck. “Help Damianos! I’ll be fine!”

The angle was annoying, his hair was in his eyes, and his hands were tied too tight, but Laurent hacked at the rope around his throat and—when it fell uselessly to the ground—went to work on the lengths around his waist. He stood just as reinforcements for the mercenaries arrived from their hunting trip to aid their comrades. Now they were _incredibly_ outnumbered.

His saw a whirl of crimson as Damen realized the same thing and ran for the panicked horses.

One stroke of his sword and he cut through the ties holding them fast to the trees, slinging himself up on one with ease. Laurent acted instinctively and ran towards him, hearing Pallas’ shout from the branches, “Exalted One, _go! Run_! We’ll hold them off!” An arrow flew past Laurent’s head and lodged itself in the neck of a man running for him.

The horse galloped toward him and a muscular dark arm reached out at about chest level. Laurent readied himself and jumped, Damen snatching him around the chest and yanking him belly-up onto the horses’ bare back. Laurent had had the breath knocked out of him and nearly stabbed himself with his own dagger as they plunged into the thick forest.

It was not long before they heard horses running behind them. Pallas and Lazar could not have hoped to kill them all and Laurent was a greater prize than killing the two hiding in the forest.

They needed to find somewhere to hide.

Heedless of covering his tracks, Damen crashed through the underbrush, down a steep slope to the rocky edge of a lake. On the far bank, a heavy waterfall—one like Damen had spoke of—poured over the lip of the cresting rock. Damen looked at intently and spurred the horse on hard.

When they got close, he spoke for the first time since the rescue. “Can you swim, Laurent?”

Laurent looked at the deep blue of the water and remembered only once before when Auguste had taken him to the shores of a lake but he had only gone in up to his knees. “No. I can’t.”

Damen looked again and made up his mind.

As he slid off the horse, he looped Laurent’s still-tied arms over his head so that Laurent was hanging from his neck, dangling several inches above the ground. Damen slapped the horse to have it break into a run back through the trees and explained hurriedly as he stepped into the water.

“With any luck, those bastards will follow the horse. I think…if we swim behind the waterfall, there might be a cave or a hollow area where we can hide until they’ve gone.” One hand protectively touched Laurent’s waist as they waded out into the water, chest-deep now. “The drop-off is here. I won’t resurface until we reach the other side,” it seemed such a long way away, “so get your breath now.”

Laurent obeyed, sucking in as much air as he possibly could before Damen launched himself from the drop-off and submerged the both of them in tepid water.

Laurent could only hang on lifelessly, his body deadweight as Damen propelled them forward with powerful kicks and wide circles of his arms. Laurent tried not to think of breathing but his lungs were burning by the time they swam underneath the churning waters of the falls.

They came up behind the pounding sheet of water, Laurent breathing in deep gulps of fresh air. He could barely see through the curtain of his wet hair.

Damen cleared it a moment later, and Laurent was able to take in their surroundings.

Damen’s dark hair was also plastered against his face but he paid it no mind as he treaded water, staring through their protective water barrier, attempting to see if the mercenaries had ridden past yet. Laurent could barely hear himself think over the echoing sound of rushing water, but Damen had been right: there was a cave behind the falls. It was deep but quite bright, probably due to small holes worn away in the rock, letting in thick shafts of light.

Damen’s heartbeat thundered through his wet chiton and Laurent held his breath again as he saw the blurry dark forms on the opposing bank.

There was a terrible moment when Laurent was afraid they weren’t going to leave but they must have found the tracks of their rider-less horse because the black shapes disappeared into the blurry green of the forest. Damen audibly sighed in relief and began to hoist himself up onto the floor of the rocky cave, pulling Laurent along with him.

When they reached a drier part of the cave, he ducked his head so that Laurent could remove his arms and the two of them stood for a moment, catching their breath.

Then, without preamble, Damen embraced Laurent so fiercely that Laurent dropped his dagger and it clattered to the stone floor. Laurent leaned into the heat, the one wonderful hand weaving into his wet hair, the other pressing possessively into the small of his back. His lips were pressed against the same spot where Laurent had done to him a few hours ago.

His words came out in a fierce jumble of Akielon. “ _Gods_ …when I saw you ride away with those…” He shook his head at the memory, “I thought I would go _mad_. And then…he put his filthy hands on you. I should have cut off his hands…Laurent, _Laurent_.”

Laurent’s eyes fluttered a bit; it was like being drugged, this feeling of…safety.

“You did the best you could…given the circumstances.” Damen did not seem interested on letting him go anytime soon and Laurent had no complaints so he felt safe continuing to talk. “Nicaise? And Aimeric?”

“Safe, safe. They’re all safe.” Damen’s warm breath against his ear made him flush. “You’re safe.”

Laurent could not resist and pressed his own lips into the tangles of Damen’s hair. “I told you to leave. I told you to go on without me. Why? Why did you…?”

Damen finally lifted his head, his expression one of shock and dismay as he searched Laurent’s expression. “You thought I would leave you? You thought…I wouldn’t come for you?”

 _No one had ever come for him_.

“I told you to leave.” Laurent’s voice came out breathless and desperate as he tried to make sense of it all. “No matter—all the foolish things I asked, all the orders I gave, you did everything you could for me. Did you rescue me because of the _Kallisti_? Because of your honor?”

Damen smiled, a soft laugh, as though he could not believe what Laurent had said.

His warm fingers brushed Laurent’s hair away from his eyes. Then he leaned back to Laurent’s cheek his warm lips running the length of Laurent’s cheekbone until he got close enough to whisper why he had left his men and his duty to come free Laurent.

Laurent sucked in breath, his heart beating as though it would jump from his chest.

When Damen pulled back he was smiling, shy and self-conscious, as he looked up from under his eyelashes. For the first time in a long time, Laurent had no idea what expression was on his face. He could only stare helplessly.

Silence. His clever tongue failed him.

Damen found words first as he leaned over to scoop Laurent’s knife off the smooth stone floor, “Forgive me, your hands. I’ll have them free in—.”

“No.”

Damen looked up, his dark eyes wide. When he stood, it was with careful slowness. Laurent looked everywhere but Damen’s face, his eyes darting to the floors, the walls, the muscles that twitched under wet red cloth. He had failed to make a decision before. He would not make the same mistake again.

“Laurent?”

“I said,” Laurent could feel the warm gaze on his face and he could look away no longer; his eyes watered as he met Damen’s gaze, “no.”

Then, with the same deliberate slowness, Laurent stood on his toes, lifting the circle of his arms over the top of Damen’s head so that they were pressed tight against each other. He lifted his head, his hands weaving for purchase in Damen’s hair, and pulled Damen’s mouth down against his.


	11. Chapter 11 (Damianos)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 11\. 'In Jewish rabbincal tradition and Hinduism, snakes represent sexual passion and desire. Many cultures eat them to increase virilty.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally I was going to stop the previous chapter when Laurent was still held hostage but...it didn't feel right so I stopped on a different cliffhanger! Now we come to my favorite: SMUT!  
> This was the cheesiest and probably the most uncomfortable place to ever have sex but I'm making it work damn it. Also the end of this chapter might be one of my favorite parts of the story! Laurent is waking up to his desires and he'll be insatiable ;)  
> Only 2 more updates after this and then I can update my ASOIAF AU! Also this chapter feature another (NSFW) drawing by the awesome Cannedebonbon! So...if you're reading in public, be careful haha!

** Chapter 11 (Damianos) **

Damen trembled as he cupped Laurent in his arms. He kissed with a fervor that he hadn’t known he possessed, stumbling backwards until his back hit the stone wall. He felt the bonds of Laurent’s arms digging into his neck but that was a second thought at the moment.

He was breathless himself when Laurent came up for air.

“Are we…doing this?” He asked, looking at that beloved, flushed face, “Here? Now?”

“Do you have any other ideas?” Laurent asked looking irritable and desperate.

“You don’t mind? On the stone floor…won’t it hurt your back?” He thought of the sight of Laurent tied to a tree, the rough rope cutting in to the lovely skin of his neck and wrists and the blaze of anger that took over his entire body when he saw it. Originally he and Lazar had decided to wait until the mercenaries had eaten their fill and they had the cover of nightfall to protect them, but upon seeing Laurent in that state, Damen had lost his mind and jumped in to fight a little early. He didn’t want Laurent to be so uncomfortable again.

Laurent pulled Damen back down for another deep kiss, his left leg hitching up around Damen’s hip. Taking liberties, Damen gently held Laurent’s knee aloft, his fingers pushing up the tattered hem of Laurent’s chiton.

Laurent’s whole body was trembling when he broke the kiss.

“I…my first time was on the finest bed in Arles.” Laurent said, for one moment his body turning cold again. “It is…not an experience I’d like to repeat and the idea of fucking on a stone floor is infinitely preferable to that.”

Disliking the cold, distant turn the conversation had taken, Damen stroked Laurent’s cheek with his thumb. “I…want nothing more than to please you.” More kissing ensued and, with the way Laurent was gyrating his hips, Damen was worried he might come to climax prematurely.

Laurent only separated a few millimeters when he found something else to say. “Are you going to kiss me in the Veretian style?” His smile was wide, as if he were making a joke, but Damen didn’t know what he was talking about.

“If it’s even half as wonderful as kissing you on the mouth, I’ll do it all evening.”

Laurent blushed deep pink and Damen was delighted at the sight.

“One step at a time, I suppose.”

This was not the kind of bed talk he was used to. “I look forward to finding out the things that bring you pleasure.” Laurent looked hesitant, almost frightened—if such a thing were even possible—and Damen tried to think of a way to make that feeling disappear.

Gently, he cupped Laurent’s lower back and glanced down at Laurent’s bottom lip as if to ask permission. Laurent closed the gap.

Their kisses started off slow and sweet, deepening as Damen dipped him back toward the ground. He used the muscle of his arms to cushion Laurent from the discomfort of having to lie on the wet, stone floor. Laurent’s hips twisted up against Damen’s, writhing like a dancer’s. Damen would have held them in place, if his arms had not been otherwise occupied.

“This is not practical.” Damen gasped when they broke apart. With the speed of impatience, Damen ducked his head so Laurent’s bound arms slipped over his head while he reached over to snatch up the forgotten dagger. The twine came undone with a simple, swift cut and Laurent’s wrists were free. Damen’s voice was breathy as he lined the angry red lines on Laurent’s lily wrists with passionate, wet kisses. “When we arrive in Ios, I’ll tie you up however you like…you can lash my body to a bedpost if you want but…for now, it’s better this way.” When he placed Laurent’s hands back around his neck, fingernails dug into the flesh there.

Damen traced the graceful curve of Laurent’s spine with one flat palm, the quick, hitching beat of Laurent’s pulse pumping under Damen’s lips from where he kissed Laurent’s throat. Cool fingers weaved through his curls and held on tight.

“Is it good? Should I go faster? Slower? Slower.” Damen’s own voice echoed around him as he answered his own question. Though Laurent had initiated and was pushing the intimacy forward at breakneck pace, Damen noticed that whenever he made his attentions agonizingly slow, Laurent’s blue eyes went hazy and his skin bloomed pink.

Damen longed to see more; even the tattered length of cloth that was serving as Laurent’s chiton was not showing enough. He was greedy. He wanted more.

With one smooth move, thanks to years of practice, Damen completely removed his own chiton, leaving him in little more than a loincloth. He hoisted Laurent up against his chest, holding him close so he could drape the cloth across the stone in a thin semblance of a blanket. It was hard to concentrate when Laurent was prone to occasionally placing quick, hesitant kisses on Damen’s jaw line.

“Do you need mine as well?”

It seemed such a waste to strip Laurent so quickly but danger had made them both mad with desire. When he could not seem to unwrap the cloth on his own, Damen took over.

Things ground to an unexpected halt.

Laurent tensed as Damen loosed the cloth and Damen let go immediately, allowing Laurent to disrobe at the pace he liked. There was a brief pause where Laurent seemed to be steeling his resolve, but then he slid off the garment before he could change his mind and tossed it behind him. Then he sort of curled up on himself, apparently very unused to his current situation and trying desperately to overcompensate. He did not seem to know what to do with himself.

“Nervous?” Damen asked, very gently so it was not misconstrued as being patronizing.

Laurent did not catch that and bristled. “I’m not afraid of sex.”

“Good, neither am I.” Damen tucked an errant piece of blonde hair behind Laurent’s ear and Laurent twitched at the touch. “But I _am_ nervous. I’ve never…wanted someone so much before.” He wasn’t lying; part of him still couldn’t believe that Laurent wanted him. He wanted to savor this situation and it made him nervous. His blood seemed to be rushing in time with the water just outside. Laurent looked at him, searching for a lie, still stiff with discomfort.

New plan.

Instead of Laurent stretching out on their makeshift bed, Damen laid down, being careful not to jostle the considerable contents of his loincloth in the process. When he was reasonably comfortable, he patted the spot next to him with a smile. Laurent stared at him, unblinking.

“You don’t have to lie down. Just sit. We can talk and you can touch me as you like until you’re more comfortable. And then…whatever you want.”

Laurent inched closer, bit by bit, until his toes were touching Damen’s side.

Slowly he reached out to run the tips of his fingers along the curve of Damen’s bicep and Damen shivered at the feeling. In the meantime, Laurent’s eyes raked over his body as if he could not really believe it.

“You’ve never had a lover with a body like mine?” Damen asked, gloating a bit.

Laurent’s mouth quirked up though it did not reach his eyes. “No…nothing like you at all really.” He did not seem fond of the subject as he asked another question immediately after before Damen could probe any more. “You…dislike women?”

“I like both.” Damen admitted. “Women more than men but…I like you more than anyone. You’re my _kallisti_. Forgive me for saying but Nicaise doesn’t have the right sort of…”

“Charm?” Laurent offered, unhelpfully, as his hand reached the beginning of Damen’s left pectoral muscle.

“Let’s go with that, yes.” Damen shivered as cool fingers continued to trace, following the outline of the muscle and the circle of a hardened nipple. His breath came out a little unsteady. He let Laurent focus on his body for several heart-stopping moments, before Laurent ran out of safe places to touch. “Would you like to lay down?”

Laurent had relaxed considerably, his body opening up and limbs moving away from their protective circle around his body. He realized this and considered for a moment. “A-All right.”

In one smooth movement, Laurent twisted and placed himself parallel to Damen, his head using one bicep as a rudimentary pillow. Damen beamed at him and allowed his hands to stroke Laurent’s damp hair. No rush, they were hidden well and they had the time.

Emboldened by Laurent’s courage, Damen asked a question that had made him wonder more than once while Laurent had ridden in front of him on the same saddle. “If you don’t mind my asking, if you want to continue being intimate—.”

“I do.” Laurent interrupted.

“How do you like to receive your pleasure?” Damen continued and Laurent immediately heated in his arms.

A whisper. “I’ve…never thought about it…”

Damen was stupefied.

Nothing? _Never_? At that moment he wondered which inept fool had taken Laurent’s virginity and not given him a fond memory to fantasize about. It was unacceptable and he vowed to personally make amends.

He rolled over so he and Laurent were face to face, whispering as though the two of them were teenaged lovers, sharing a bed in the military barracks.

“ _Never_?” Laurent blushed at Damen’s tone. “You’ve never—?” Damen made an indicative motion with his hand.

“I am…not able to…relax, given the circumstances.” Laurent admitted.

“Would you…like to try? Now?” Damen asked hesitantly. “I can help you, if you like.”

It seemed like something out of a dream as Laurent made his decision and turned over so that his back was pressed flush against Damen’s front. His knees only trembled a little as he spread his legs. Gently, Damen took Laurent’s right hand in his own and began to move it around on the beautiful body laid out in front of him. He was thankful; Laurent must have truly been resolved to give up control of even one finger, much less an entire hand.

“You are…very beautiful.” Damen said right next to Laurent’s pink ear. Immediately it flushed scarlet and Laurent twitched in surprise, which he then tried to mask as anger.

“ _Don’t blow in my ear_!”

“Sorry.”

With Laurent’s hand following his movements, his white fingers trailed across his lips and lightly down the length of his ivory throat. Every place he touched bloomed pink.

“Let me know,” Damen murmured into the thinnest, finest skin of Laurent’s collarbone since his ears were too sensitive, “if I should slow down or stop. I’ll stop immediately.” Laurent nodded curtly.

It was fascinating this way, Damen had to admit. He was perspiring already just on how aroused he was from touching Laurent by proxy. Like stroking a being made from porcelain or fine glass, Damen found from his attentions to Laurent’s neck and shoulders that the more gentle his touch, the more Laurent unraveled in his arms. Suckling on the thinnest skin, caressing the line of his pulse down over his collarbones caused Laurent’s blue eyes to go hazy, his mouth silently open in hopes of sucking in more air.

“You can cry out,” he urged softly, “no one will hear us over the sound of the water…” Stubborn as he was, Damen knew Laurent would do he best to not make a sound.

When Damen began to lazily circle Laurent’s rosy nipples with Laurent’s thumb, Laurent arched against Damen. All of his muscles were taut as a bowstring and Damen paused until he relaxed again. Then he toyed with the reddening buds again; Laurent made no sound but his legs tied themselves around Damen’s, his heels and toenails digging for purchase.

Without breaking his lips away from Laurent’s skin, Damen explored Laurent’s body through one hand. Just his view from the side was enough to make him wild with desire.

So easily he could imagine his guiding hand gone and it was just Laurent, twitching with desire in his arms as he touched himself—probably for the first time in his life. Damen began to roll his hips slightly, hoping that Laurent would follow suit.

“More? Lower?” Damen asked in breathless Akielon as Laurent’s hips twitched.

Virgin Laurent, about to deflower himself.

“ _Don’t_ …” Laurent’s head lolled in spite of his best efforts and his clenched jaw and smooth brow could not conceal the wild flush of his cheeks, the pleading deep in his eyes, “make me say it…”

One expert tug on the loincloth was all it took and Laurent was left bare and pink at the mercy of his own hand. Laurent was not the type to moan loudly or wail when he was pleased but he still gasped for a kiss as Damen dragged their hands through the fine soft hair at Laurent’s hips. Without even looking, Damen knew it would be golden, a few shades lighter than the hair on his head, and curly around the base of his flushing cock.

Laurent must have known that Damen was going to begin talking dirty, as he was very reluctant to break the kiss. But Damen was insistent. What kind of tutor would he be if he did not explain in explicit detail?

Laurent’s free hand yanked a handful of Damen’s dark curls as Damen licked the outer edge of his hot ear.

Then came the instructions, as Damen helped Laurent discover the joy of touching himself.

“Grip it, Laurent, lightly—that’s it. Good.” Damen could feel the heat pouring off of it from between the gaps in Laurent’s fingers. “Now slowly, _slowly_.” The slow build up to the frantic climax… “You’re doing well.” He helped to pump in the familiar motion and was pleased with every tiny twitch, every soft gasp he could elicit. “Feel it, rub the tip with your thumb. If it feels nice, you can do it again. Oh god, you’re so lovely I want to lick you. Yes, a little faster is fine. Tell me your pleasure.”

“You have… _mmm_ …some gall.” Laurent gasped. “Ordering around…the Prince of— _ohh_ …” Laurent looked as though he would like to curl in on himself. Damen was breathing hard even though he had not touched himself at all.

“I’ll stop if you want.” Damen whispered. Laurent did not respond.

Instead he bit his lip to silence any further noises and clenched his hips to make them stay in place as Damen helped him establish a rhythm he liked. Damen felt safe to take a look; pale pink bordering on red, the tip shiny as it bled viscous white, the golden fur becoming matted with sweat and cum. Damen’s mouth itched with the desire to taste it…all in due time…

When Laurent’s hips stopped twitching and began to bounce against his hand, Damen began to let go. Finger by finger, he slid away until it was just Laurent’s motion.

Laurent exhaled slowly, his eyes becoming wide as he realized what he was doing, as he _felt_ the new stimulation. Damen kissed Laurent’s temple, as if to ‘say you’re doing well’ before moving on to help him even more. With the tips of his large fingers, Damen stroked the soft skin of Laurent’s inner thighs, over the balls, so he could massage the spot right behind them. With that tiny application of pressure, it was too much stimulus for Laurent. His hips rocked back into Damen’s as if he were trying to yank to orgasm back into himself.

But his body was insistent and white liquid poured in fat, sticky drops over his knuckles and down his wrist. It was clear now that he never pleasured himself just on how thick the cum was. It was no wonder he was so uptight and fond of bitching.

His eyes had rolled back in his head at the feeling and Damen watched in awe; Laurent could win the _Kallisti_ just by showing the judges this expression, but Damen would never allow it. This view was for his eyes only.

Limp from pleasure, Laurent offered no resistance as Damen shifted him, half-cradling Laurent’s torso as he kissed and suckled any available patch of skin he found. He was pleased to feel that Laurent’s skin was no longer icy cool but flushed with warmth. He would have liked to leave marks but…he couldn’t mar this flawless skin. Instead he licked the angry red lines on Laurent’s wrists.

So much to do and their facilities were too inadequate.

Damen whispered all the filthy things he would like to do with Laurent when they reached Ios and had a proper bed at their disposal.

Lick him until he melted, suck his pink cock dry, suckle his nipples, have Laurent ride his way to pleasure on the power of Damen’s expert tongue. Damen would entertain Laurent for hours in the bath with two or three of Damen’s fingers deep inside him; and Damen would take him in any way he liked: rough, soft, standing up, bent over furniture, on the balcony, with his hands tied, with Laurent on top. Anything. _Everything_.

When he had finished speaking, Laurent was blushing pink from the roots of his hair all the way down to his rosy little nipples.

“You have a filthy mouth.” Laurent hissed, averting his eyes.

“You have no idea,” Damen whispered in Laurent’s overly sensitive ear, “what filthy things I can do with my mouth.” Blue eyes flashed in his direction and Damen laughed a little as he bent down for another kiss.

“I want to see you.” Laurent demanded as Damen pulled back. He looked Damen up and down intently. “ _All_ of you.”

Pleased, Damen obliged.

Not self-conscious in the least, Damen leaned back so he was kneeling with his back to the waterfall, untied his loincloth and let it fall to the floor, giving Laurent an uninterrupted view of his fine body. Since Damen’s back was to the light it took Laurent’s eyes a few moments to adjust and when they did…Damen couldn’t help but notice how they lingered at his hips.

He actually felt a little nervous under such intense scrutiny. Then, of course…he had never wanted someone so much in his entire life.

Laurent’s look darkened but his eyes sparkled with…something. “You are utterly infuriating.”

“I’ve heard similar things said about you.” Damen responded with a smile, looking down to the familiar sight of his firm abdomen and half-hard cock. “Apparently we suit each other well.”

Laurent moved just slightly, cocking his hip so that his body was also on display. His flawless skin glowed like a pearl in the low light. Damen’s mouth felt a little dry and he too couldn’t help but stare.

“I wonder…what do they feed you in Akielos to make you so…large?”

“Blondes, mostly.” Damen admitted.

Laurent broke the tension with a laugh. “Insatiable fool. Come here and…let me touch you.”

Damen obliged, moving forward on his knees so that Laurent could splay slender fingers across the muscle over his heart. He trailed down over the quivering muscles, over the ridges of Damen’s hipbones and then—Damen gasped for air, his whole body shuddering as Laurent took hold of him. Though the grip was a little firm, the tips of his fingers moved in small circles on the overly sensitive skin.

“Have I caught you at a disadvantage?” Laurent asked in a voice all wicked sweetness. One fingernail carefully traced Damen’s cock from base to tip and Damen felt it swell.

“You might need your other hand to catch me completely.” He offered breathlessly.

Laurent flushed at that.

“How…how are we to _do_ it? Do you prefer…” For having such an impossibly sharp tongue most of his waking hours, it was almost unbelievable to see Laurent so shy and blushing over asking about sex positions, “from behind?”

“I want to see your face.” Damen began, thinking of Laurent’s delicious expression from earlier, “But whatever pleases you most.”

“I-I see…”

After a deep breath to calm himself, Laurent let go of Damen’s penis and lay backwards on their outspread chitons. Awkwardly, he spread his legs—Damen could not help but admire the view—and seemed to clench his teeth in preparation. “I-I’m ready. You can…put it in as you like.”

“Excuse me?” Damen was a bit shocked as he ran one hand up Laurent’s calf. “Do you think I will just force it in? Is that the way it is done in Vere? Is…that the way it was done to you?”

Laurent refused to answer and pressed his arm over his face to shield his expression.

Damen was outraged but he pushed it to the side, comforting himself with the promise that if he ever discovered the incompetent ass who did such a poor job of taking Laurent’s virginity, he would crush that man’s testicles with the blunt side of a mallet. See how he liked it.

“That’s not how we do things in Akielos.” He assured.

There were some logistical problems. He had not planned to make love during a rescue mission and wasn’t even sure if a pot of love oil was amongst their provisions. He would have to improvise.

In the end, it was Laurent’s pleasure, still thick and slippery on his hand, which Damen used to wet Laurent and open him up. He was so tight that Damen could scarcely fit in his smallest finger. Stretched out next to Laurent on the chitons, Damen watched as he worked; never had he enjoyed himself so much, never had he seen such a wonderful sight as Laurent trying desperately not to writhe on his fingers, tried to stifle cries of pleasure as Damen discovered the spots he liked to be touched. Their heavy breathing was barely louder than the dripping water.

When Damen had managed three fingers that slid in and out with relative ease, Laurent was more pink than white at this point and his rosy cock was dripping white onto his stomach.

Damen had been murmuring words of encouragement as he rubbed and Laurent looked over when he ceased speaking.

“Run out of dirty things to say?” He gasped.

Damen smiled down at him. “Your…your body is ready if you are.”

Laurent’s breath hitched a little as Damen’s fingers slid out. He looked down at his hips with something much like fear. “And…if I am not?”

Damen kissed Laurent’s brow, his lips sticking to the sweat there. The tug of his own arousal did not even register. “If you’re not ready then…I will not push you. I’ll lick the pleasure out and then we can rest until the cover of nightfall. I won’t…ever push this. I swear.”

Laurent responded by pulling Damen down for a kiss, one hand firm around his neck, the other yanking his hair. His leg hooked around Damen’s waist, pulling him in so that his hips were pushed into the wet spot he had created. The two of them were grinding together, slick and slippery, all but one form.

When Laurent broke the kiss, his eyes had a lustful determination. “You _will_ fuck me this instant. Or I'll have you do it during The _Kallisti_.”

Damen flushed.

He could not imagine such a scenario. In front of the _kyroi_ and his subjects? In front of his _father_? He must have looked truly alarmed, because Laurent burst into laughter, covering his hands with his mouth to silence the echoes.

He was still laughing as Damen began to plaster him with kisses, his laugh taking on an edge of nervous hysteria as Damen shifted against him. The laugh simmered down into sharp sighs as Damen positioned himself and slowly pushed himself forward until he had sheathed his cock in Laurent and the two of them were melting into each other.

Laurent squeezed him so tight he thought he might break, and Damen had to take a moment for his lover to adjust, head pressed down against that milky white neck, both arms wrapped tight around Laurent.

One hand clenched in his hair, the other dug nails into his back. “ _Please_ …please move.” Laurent whispered, his breath as hot as his insides.

How could he refuse?

There was no subtlety to this. No pretty positions or needless talk. This was just pure and abject need.

Their legs were entwined like a knot of spring snakes; bodies pressed so close together that they thrust together in oiled tandem. There was scarcely an inch between their torsos, Laurent thrusting up his hips so the distance was minimized. Damen’s searching lips and tongue found familiar solace in Laurent’s mouth; the two of them kissed hungrily, spurred on, perhaps, by the memory that they had almost been separated.

Laurent yanked at Damen’s hair as the thrusts increased in speed. Damen’s toes dug into the wet rock as he tried to get closer, closer…he never wanted this to end. He wanted to never let Laurent out of the safe circle of his arms.

The kiss melted apart and Laurent panted Damen’s name in a helpless plea. It was barely audible over the sound of rushing water…or was it the pump of blood? The rush of adrenaline?

“Damen. _Damen!”_ Laurent repeated against Damen’s feverish cheek.

They were rocking back and forth, slippery as the stone floors, trying to get closer and closer as if they would try to melt into one another. Damen buried his face in the tangle of Laurent’s hair and breathed in the scent of him.

No one could hope to hear, over the sound of the massive waterfall, the sounds of ecstasy that echoed in gasps as Laurent and Damen climaxed, heat spilling out of them, wound together in one love-drenched form.

 

When Damen sank into the cool water of the lake his red-hot hips rejoiced at the feeling. Even more so, he liked to see that Laurent was walking a little stiffly as he picked his way down the rocks. Quite unlike his normally graceful self, Laurent stumbled from the soreness and the slick moss on the rocks and plunked to the water like a small white stone.

Damen dropped the chitons to the water in surprise and could not help but laugh as he yanked Laurent to the surface. His jaw was clenched in dismay, his hair plastered over his face.

“Unsteady on your legs, Your Grace?”

“Don’t you gloat!” He hissed.

“Never.” Damen grinned as he cleared hair from Laurent’s eyes. “But we may have to wait for the chitons to dry again…” Laurent groaned.

It was only an hour or so before dawn and the sky was beginning to be streaked with shades of pale blue and lavender. Damen and Laurent had been in a stupor for most of the afternoon and night: fucking with unflagging joy until exhaustion had claimed them and Damen had fallen asleep cradling Laurent’s limp form. Not once had Laurent allowed Damen to remove his penis.

He only had himself to blame for his stiff hips.

“Perfect. Either that or we will be forced to wander around in the forest mostly naked?” Laurent grumbled as he wound his arms around Damen’s neck in preparation to swim under their watery curtain.

“I’m fine with either option to be honest.” Damen kissed Laurent’s nose.

In the end, they walked through the forest in wet loincloths, with the dripping fabric hanging from their necks like bath towels and Damen’s sword was tied around his bare waist. They looked utterly ridiculous.

“You truly think Lazar will find us before…anyone else will?” Damen asked.

“The man could find a single leaf in a forest twice this size.” Laurent assured. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he had already strung up those mercenaries and had your man Pallas beat them within an inch of their lives.” Damen remembered how easily Lazar had moved through the trees, almost soundless, seeing things that seemed innocuous to Damen and Pallas.

“That is assuming they didn’t take advantage of their time alone to find a secluded spot.”

“They must take after their commanders.” Laurent responded, deadpan.

A little further and Damen recalled something from a previous conversation with Laurent. “I heard Pallas mention it before, and you said it as well but…what is ‘kissing in the Veretian style’?” Laurent’s ears blazed red from between the curtain on his hair.

“That is…you can blame Lazar for it.” Laurent sounded extremely reluctant to say. “It is when…you kiss and… _lick_ but…on the…the…”Damen realized immediately where he was going with this and reminded himself to thank Lazar later. Laurent’s voice had trailed into a whisper. “…the—Pallas called it a ‘bud’,” he said the word in Akielon and Damen could have died for his arousal, “but it basically is the…ass…”

Damen slowed so he was immediately next to Laurent. “I understand. Do you—have you ever thought of…?”

Laurent was scarlet. “ _Filthy_. Have…have you?”

Damen shrugged, pretending as though his heart was not beating out of his chest. “It is something I enjoy most.” Then he waited.

It only took a few moments before Laurent stopped, looking absolutely annoyed. Damen turned back to look at him and liked what he saw. His body was so lovely to look at: perfectly balanced, pink in all the right places…

“Do you…want to do it…to me?”

“Yes.” Was his immediate response. “But…here? Now?” Damen asked in amazement. “With people out to steal you possibly combing the forest as we speak?” If so, he was flattered that Laurent wanted him so badly. He did seem to be shifting his hips as though they itched.

Laurent tilted his chin in defiance. “Well…if they do find us…would you regret not doing this when you had the chance?”

“You make a compelling argument.”

Damen remembered his original thought: how a Laurent who was loved properly would positively melt with any sort of proper pleasure. Apparently, faced with a world of new possibilities, Laurent wanted to try everything and Damen was more than happy to oblige. So incensed, it did not take them long to find a suitable thicket and for Laurent to curve his body up against a tree trunk.

“Quickly. Just quickly.” Laurent was murmuring to himself, as though he was trying to justify the break in their journey.

Damen sank to his knees, tossing his chiton to the side. His tongue ran the heavy curve of Laurent’s buttocks and they trembled at the feeling. A simple tug and the loincloth was pulled to the side, revealing the slightly swollen redness within. Damen kissed first, delighting when Laurent jerked.

“Try not to squeal.”

“You insult me.” Laurent looked over his shoulder with a look that would be flirtatious on anyone else. “I wouldn’t give you the satisfaction.”

Damen grinned at the challenge. With no warning, he dragged his tongue in a long stripe up the center and Laurent gasped in air, clutching at the bark of the tree. He had no way of knowing the pure extent of Damen’s expertise and Damen was going amend that immediately.

Damen moved the rounded flesh to get a better angle, his tongue slicing to and fro in lazy exploration. Laurent lifted himself up onto his trembling toes, not making a sound, his rocking hips and blush giving away his pleasure. Damen began to make lazy circles with his tongue around the clean spot; nursing, sucking, kissing, he had missed this feeling.

And even Laurent, strong and stubborn as he was, could not help but cry as Damen pushed his tongue inside. He covered his mouth with his own hand but bounced helplessly as Damen curled his tongue, pushing in and out with the rhythm Laurent was setting.

The view was spectacular.

He could see Laurent’s cock rise from out of sight, thin, runny fluid dripping to the ground not long after. More, _more_.

Damen suckled. Laurent moaned.

He was about to have Laurent cum just from clever tongue work when someone from behind them announced their presence by way of clearing their throat. Damen and Laurent both whirled, swords out, though they hardly looked to inspire fear. Damen, half-kneeling, had saliva running down his chin and neck while Laurent was flushed pink to his chest and had a stone-hard erection hanging from out of his loincloth.

Pallas, crimson in the face, had looked away in a panic. Lazar—also red, though his was due to blood—simply smiled as though he semi-regularly encountered princes kissing in the Veretian style in the woods.

“Ah! Your Highness. Fancy meeting you here. Were you bit by a snake?"


	12. Chapter 12 (Laurent)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 12\. 'The snake is one of the oldest and most widespread cultural symbols, they often represent a duality of good/evil, life/death.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Laurent! Haha he must be so embarrassed...but he is changing in the warmth, shedding his falsehoods and really becoming himself. A proper snake.   
> Also there's a small trigger warning for death here and a little bit of angst so..be forewarned. Another small hint that probably no one ever caught was the asphodel: it's a symbol of regret and is the symbol of the Greek afterlife (death).  
> And I really enjoy the end of this chapter too. Such a different tone from the first couple of cold, aloof chapters. Enjoy everyone! The Kallisti is coming up next!

** Chapter 12 (Laurent) **

Laurent could have died for the embarrassment of it all.

That _Lazar_ , filthy-minded, loose-lipped, wolfish Lazar, would have to witness that. Pallas wisely made no comments. Lazar had been so ‘kind’ as to offer to let Laurent and Damen finish what they were doing, but the shame had been too much to handle and Laurent just wanted to get out of the forest as soon as humanly possible. Damen did not question his decision and even helped Laurent adjust the loincloth to give him some modesty

He only had his own weakness to blame.

Luckily, Lazar had three horses saddled and waiting nearby and a very good explanation.

“We were following those mercenaries around the forest for the better part of the evening and when we realized they still hadn’t gotten a hold of the two of you, we thought that you must have been off hiding somewhere and would turn up eventually. So we nicked some of their horses, started picking them off one by one and then waited around for you to reveal yourselves. It wasn’t too long of a wait. And Pallas is louder than you are, Your Highness.”

Damen raised one eyebrow as if to say ‘I told you so’ and Laurent ignored him.

Pallas offered to ride double with Lazar to provide Laurent with his own mount (which had probably been Lazar’s design from the beginning) but Laurent waved him off. He was bone-tired, the chiton wrapped around his shoulders was still soaking wet and he was not ready to tear himself away from the warmth of Damen’s chest and arms.

Lazar was still chattering in a mix of Veretian and broken Akielon, attempting to flirt with Pallas, as they clambered up onto the horses and began to ride back to the rest of their group.

Laurent allowed himself to slump against Damen’s chest and bask in the warmth there.

He…he felt safe. Which was strange and almost alarming to him, as he couldn’t remember the last time he had felt this way. Had he _ever_ felt this way?

He had gripped Damen by the hair last night, full intending to bite his lip bloody to keep from crying at the pain, just as he had always done. But…there had been no pain; oh, there was delicious pressure in the beginning, when Laurent thought he would surely split open but, it never came, it never happened and he had only been bathed in pleasant heat. Damen had scratched an itch he never knew he had.

And rather than making things feel better, it had sparked a flame in Laurent’s hips that did not seem to want to go out.

When Damen had slid inside…when he caressed places Laurent didn’t even know had existed, it was like…the cold, icy Laurent that he had spent years creating, melted away in the sweat of their feverish lovemaking. He had clung to Damen in the most embarrassing way, as if holding tighter would send him deeper. He wanted Damen to hold him so tight that there could be no hopes of separating. There was no blood, no pain like the feeling of passing shards of glass afterwards; just a pleasant, loose feeling in his whole body. He had never imagined such pleasure could have ever existed.

The heat flared up again and he fought it back with alarm.

This was how he had gotten into the incident with the ‘Veretian kissing’…He had been walking behind Damen, watching the shimmering twitches of those fine, wet, back muscles, the firm quiver of his dark buttocks, the way he smiled, the deep sound of his voice…remembered how all of those things had felt pressed up hard against him…

When Damen brought up the subject…before Laurent had been repulsed by the very idea. But when he thought of Damen’s tongue, of how it felt on the rest of his body, about how it might feel…down _there_ …He was so sore, it would be soothing, he told himself as he was struck by a desperate need for it. He wanted it so badly, he didn’t care about the danger.

_It…felt so good. So good. He selfishly wanted it again. Pull over the horses. He was sore but twitching from the want of it. I need it…_

His hips jostled against Damen’s as they rode and he twisted a little in the saddle.

“I’m sorry if it’s painful.” Damen whispered, in Akielon to spare Lazar any intimate details. “Please try to bear with it. I will rub salve on you if you hurt; Paschal probably has some medicine to help in his pouch…”

 _It isn’t painful_ , Laurent thought, pushing his hips as a far back as he dared, so that he was rubbing on the large bulge in Damen’s loincloth. _And I don’t want the salve. I want you to suckle on ice and then have me ride your tongue_. He was shocked by how just one night of passion could turn his mind to rot.

“See that you do.” Laurent responded with marked coolness. Even though Damen and Pallas and Lazar were aware of his feelings, old habits died hard.

He felt a quick kiss on the top of his head and then one warm arm pushing him back against Damen’s warmer chest. His limbs felt liquefied and the tingle deep inside calmed for a moment as he prepared to be hoisted up into the saddle and taken from behind.

Damen was not quite so uncouth as he appeared and did not immediately think to begin fucking on the back of a horse. It did not take long for Laurent to succumb to the warmth and fall asleep against Damen’s chest.

When he came awake, he nearly jerked off the side of the horse in surprise.

Damen caught him round the waist and yanked him back with surprise. “ _What?_ What is it? Are you alright?”

Laurent kept himself from flushing with embarrassment. “Nothing, it’s nothing. I’m fine, I’m just… not used to falling asleep on horseback.” Not entirely true; he was not used to letting his guard down. He was used to being so alert even in sleep that he could yank himself to wakefulness at the slightest noise. This had been deep and dreamless. It unnerved him.

“We did have a long night,” Damen admitted with a self-conscious blush.

Laurent ignored his oddly virginal reaction in favor of taking in his surroundings. They had reached the outer edges of the forest, glimpsing the broad expanse of plains through the very edge of the copse, and it was clearly mid-morning at least, judging by the bright spots of sunlight that reached through the leaves. Damen’s dry, crimson chiton was draped across his body in the semblance of a blanket. Laurent was pleasantly touched that Damen had thought to cover his modesty.

“Will we be able to find our companions when we reach the road?” Laurent called out to Lazar.

“By ‘we’ do you mean ‘me’?” Lazar responded.

“Lazar,” Laurent sighed, “is it possible for you to answer a question without being insufferable?”

“You should stop asking me questions.”

“Damianos, if Lazar does not say something sensible on his next breath, please instruct Pallas to shoot him in the leg.” Pallas had acquired two fine, re-curved bows at some point during the night and one was strapped across his back alongside a decent leather quiver. Laurent was interested to see how good of a shot he was.

There was no need for threats however, as Lazar finally got around to answering Laurent’s question. “I’ll find them. Hell, if Nicaise is anything like his normal self then we’ll be able to hear them from the moment we step out of this forest.”

“We told them to stay where they were.” Damen added. “Hopefully they heard us.”

“You were so angry, Exalted One, I doubt they understood a word you said.” Pallas responded.

Laurent felt Damen heat up behind him and he felt his ears burning in response.

Damen had been upset over him; he had left his men to race to Laurent’s side. Laurent was no helpless child in need of a hero from a storybook but…it was still a little comforting to know that someone cherished him like that…

Out on the road, the four of them nudged the horses into a lively canter southwest, only stopping briefly so that Laurent and Damen could dress themselves by the side of the road.

“I believe the maids in Ios polish the floors with something similar.” Damen commented upon seeing the sorry state of Laurent’s chiton.

Originally as white and crisp as a linen bed sheet, a week in the saddle, a hard ride through the forest, and scrambling over rocks and dirt had rendered the fabric grayish and torn around the hem, not to mention the spatters of mercenary blood dried across the front. He knew that even after a dip in the water, with his wild hair he probably looked more suited to begging on the streets of Ios than being a competitor in the _Kallisti_.

“Your advice on fashion is always appreciated.” He responded in a dry tone, poking at a hole in the red expanse of Damen’s chiton, caused no doubt, by their rutting on top of it.

Damen grinned wide and—when he was sure Pallas and Lazar were not paying attention—Laurent poked him hard where his left cheek dimpled.

Lazar looked carefully when they remounted and claimed that they were heading in the correct direction and it wouldn’t be more than a half hour before the trail became stronger. But in less than ten minutes they came upon something else entirely.

Unusual in the broad expanse of the plains, there was a tree by the side of the road and a figure sitting underneath it in the shadows of the leaves. Damen stiffened instantly at the sight and Laurent gripped the handle of his dagger.

“An ambush?” He wondered aloud.

A hand, warm and familiar, pressed hard against his chest so he was pushed back into Damen. “Pallas, look into it.” Damen ordered, and even the idea of a threat made his voice thick with fury.

Lazar looked like he wanted to argue but shut up immediately when he looked back at Damen and Laurent. Pallas could handle himself.

With ease, Pallas notched an arrow and urged his horse forward towards the person waiting for them. If they attempted anything, Laurent was reasonably certain they would get an arrow through the throat.

They watched Pallas thunder down the road, Lazar’s grip tight on the reins, until the graceful form skidded to a halt.

Laurent watched; he could see Pallas’ long curls rustling with the wind, see the tension leave his muscular shoulders as his bow lowered and the arrow fell uselessly to the dirt. Laurent felt his heartbeat in his throat.

“ _Exalted One_!”

Lazar was off first, his horse sensing the tension and outstripping Damen and Laurent’s mount by a good three lengths. When they reached Pallas, he was still too shocked to have dismounted and was staring at the figure under the tree with horror on his handsome face. Lazar was about to comfort him when he got a good look and went pale, his hand still outstretched toward Pallas.

Laurent could feel his chest rising and falling, but it felt as though he was getting no oxygen.

He was tied like Laurent had been: hands lashed behind his back, one length of rope across his neck, another across his chest to keep him pressed tight to the tree trunk. So there could be no question as to who had done this; Laurent remembered a faction of the mercenaries who had torn apart from the group to double back. There was a handmade arrow sticking from his knee and the top edge of his chiton was now dark red from the gash that cut across his throat.

“Rochert…” Pallas whispered.

Automatically, Laurent dismounted, feeling his feet hit the dirt. _Young Rochert smiled at him on the practice greens of Arles._ He walked without thinking, but knowing in his heart that Rochert was dead, had been dead for hours. _He had bowed, cheeks ruddy with emotion as he swore allegiance to Laurent, swore to protect him_. Laurent knew his expression was icy cold as he knelt next to the body. _He smiled, spoke of his sister and nephew as he rubbed his thumb over the carnelian pendant_. Laurent looked at the familiar face and a wave of sickness hit him; it was Auguste in front of him, Auguste with an arrow to the throat, face parchment white, an image that haunted him in nightmares.

Laurent averted his eyes and saw that Damen had followed him, crouched beside him with a similar stony expression.

Laurent looked at him, searching for answers.

Lazar and Pallas joined them not long after, Lazar being the only one that would hazard to say anything. “They…must have been under orders to leave no witnesses. He knew too much.” Damen leaned forward to slice the ropes, Rochert’s body slumping towards the ground before Damen caught him. “They must have—.”

Laurent toned him out.

In the grass and the dirt by the edge of the tree, he saw the shimmer of red that was too bright for blood. The carnelian pendant weighed heavy in his hand when he reached over to pick it up. The gold chain had dried brownish blood on some of the links but the carving of the asphodel on the red stone remained unmarred. Laurent rubbed his thumb over it.

Red…

Nicaise’s nightshirt, his hips seeping blood, his voice echoing in desperate bell tones: ‘ _I want to leave…I don’t want to stay here anymore!_ ’ Auguste bleeding red over leaves. Laurent’s cheeks burning, his buttocks red, his hips searing, more blood on clean gold sheets. Rochert in agonies, torn as he clutched this cheap red stone; _‘He has my nephew, Your Highness. My nephew is seven. Almost eight…_ ’

He stood quickly, unable to stand the helplessness he felt deep in his gut, though he took care not to let it show.

Damen looked up at him.

“We should bury him.” Laurent said, his voice unnecessarily cold and sharp. “But we have not the time.” They were late for the _Kallisti_ , he knew it, and it was the best chance to land a surprise blow on his uncle.

“We leave him to rot then?” Lazar’s voice sounded equally hollow, trying to suppress his own feelings. “Rot for a traitor?” Rochert _had_ been a traitor. He had left Laurent for dead, put Aimeric and Nicaise in immediate danger, and tossed in his hopes with Laurent’s uncle instead of trusting his prince. Perhaps he had known he was going to his death.

But…Laurent could not hate him.

He was torn over the feeling, but he could not hate the desperation he knew Rochert had felt when he heard what leverage he was up against. He made his heart a block of ice—more difficult than he had ever remembered it—and gave the command.

“We have not the time.” He repeated. “If any of those mercenaries escaped and made their way to Ios…my uncle will know I’m coming and run. They might also tell him I’m traveling with you, Damianos. We do not have the luxury of time to stand around digging holes.” He took one last look at Rochert’s body where it was lying limp in Damen’s arms, trying to commit the image to memory to fuel his vengeance. Really…he was just tired… “Burn the body. And the tree.”

It took only a moment for Pallas and Lazar to gather some sticks and dry grass for kindling and they tucked them around Rochert’s body and then brought out the flint. Only two strikes and a flame had begun.

Laurent steeled himself and watched as the flames grew high and orange, dancing in the breeze and covering up the body of his former guard. He refused to cry.

No one spoke and, after a respectful amount of time, Damen placed his hand on Laurent’s shoulder.

Laurent touched it gently and turned away from the pyre, back to his waiting horse. Damen followed him after a moment. “Should we…take his ashes for his family grave?” It was kind of him, to offer this small kindness in spite of their time constraints.

Laurent shook his head, silently showing Damen the pendant in his hand. He had gripped it so tight that the carved lily had created an angry red imprint on his palm. He kept it in his hand as they rode southwest, kept it until even the smoke had disappeared on the horizon.

 

Lazar managed to track down their companions by mid-afternoon, the lot of them having traveled close to the border of Thrace in hopes of finding an Akielon garrison. Nicaise had actually jumped from the back of Vannes’ horse when he had seen them approaching.

Even the melancholy of having to destroy the body of Rochert could not put a damper on their reunion.

Nikandros, Lydos and Aktis greeted Damen and Pallas as though they had expected to never see their comrades again. Laurent greeted his men with more reserve but they seemed no less happy to see him alive. Aimeric had a scratch on his peachy cheek from being pushed aside roughly by the mercenaries and Nicaise bitched about being bruised after being dropped off the back of a horse. Laurent was tempered in his happiness over being reunited; so much had changed in twenty-four hours and he could not explain it to anyone…

 _It was not entirely true_ , his thoughts rebelled.

There was no time for too much celebration or even thought over what had happened. Nikandros heard word that the _Kallisti_ was to be held in only eight days, now that all the competitors were in Akielos and they could not afford to be late. According to the map, they had to pass through Thrace and Kesus before they were anywhere close to Ios. It would be close.

“This rush could have been avoided if you had built your capital somewhere sensible.” He jabbed, mostly just to see Nikandros glare at his complaints. Damen had not built Ios himself and it was strategically placed at the finest port for trade reasons.

Damen smiled as he folded the map to place it in one of their saddlebags. “Perhaps we can build a second capital in Marlas.” Laurent took a moment to recall the spot on the map and felt his ears go hot as he remembered it was very close to the border of Vere. Damen was looking at him with a knowing smile. “One thing at time. First the _Kallisti_. Then you retake your throne. Then…we can talk.”

Nikandros looked pained but made no comment.

They made good time through the river-veined, rocky land of Thrace, making it almost halfway through the state before nightfall.

Over a dinner of small stream trout and some wild mushrooms and potatoes cooked into a stew, Lazar gave a retelling of the dramatic rescue, though he left out the details of actually coming across Damen and Laurent in the forest, simply providing, that Laurent had ‘gotten tangled in the brambles and His Highness, Damianos was attempting to assist him’. Damen smiled diplomatically from where he had the misfortune of sitting next to Nicaise by the campfire.

With the anticipation of rising before dawn, most of their men went for the bedrolls not long after finishing dinner. Nicaise and Damen were now arguing in hushed tones and Laurent wondered if Nicaise was going to stab Damen’s muscular thigh with the fork he held in his fist. The lack of Rochert hung like a thick, dark cloud in Laurent’s subconscious and he forced himself not to think or feel.

Grief was a luxury he could not afford.

What he could afford, however, was a small talk with Paschal over his medicinal skills. The familiar, stress-weary face broke into a smile as Laurent approached and Laurent could not help but smile back. “Well met, Your Highness.”

“Paschal. I have need of your assistance.”

“Were you injured on your journey?” Paschal stood with concern. “Please sit if it pains you.”

Laurent waved him away before he could fuss any further. “No no, it’s nothing serious. I just wondered…that balm that you gave Nicaise…did you happened to bring any more of it with you?” Paschal gave him a level look; Laurent liked him for the look when he was younger, as it was non-judgmental and did not press for details.

Laurent felt himself blush and did not attempt to hide it, so that Paschal did not assume he had been raped by mercenaries. Paschal took it in without a change in expression and then turned to his medicine bags. When he turned back, there was a small pot of lotion in his hand and a bit of a smile playing at the corners of his lips.

“If you put this on…the areas that are swollen or inflamed,” gently he tapped Laurent’s tender wrists, “by the next morning the irritation will have decreased.” Laurent inclined his head by way of thanks and prepared to take the balm away. “Your Highness.” Paschal was smiling outright now, though it was in a self-conscious kind of way. “Forgive me if I’m too bold. But you might do well not to mention this to the Lady Vannes. From what I understand, she has a great deal of money on the line in regards to…when and to whom.”

“Duly noted.” Laurent said, feeling his ears burn as he gripped the pot tight.

Laurent decided to take up a spot on a relatively private hill that had a level top, much like a plateau, a good climb from the main camp so no one could observe him applying the balm.

The smell—light jasmine barely concealing the odor of medicine—brought back a wave of unpleasant memories but he bit back his distaste to rub the balm on his wrists. When he touched the sore spots between his ass cheeks, he braced himself for the pain.

But there was no pain. Instead the spot twitched at the attention, though his body seemed irritated that the fingers weren’t the large, warm ones from earlier.

“Am I catching you at a bad time?” Laurent yanked his hand away from his hips, turning to meet Damen’s very interested gaze. “Do you need any help with that?” His voice was a little hoarse.

“I’ve already finished, thank you.” Laurent responded setting the medicine aside.

“Well, may I join you then?”

“Of course.”

Laurent felt a little stiff upon hearing Damen’s tone. He sounded very hesitant and formal; Laurent wondered if Damen felt just as awkward thinking of their time together the previous night. His own body seemed to hum with energy, with the idea of what might come, as he made room for Damen to lie down next to him.

Laurent ignored the hot chip in his stomach as Damen’s arm curled protectively around his bare shoulders. Laurent avoided his burning gaze by staring up at the stars.

The campfire burned down and voices in the distance trailed off.

Damen broke the silence first. “I…Rochert, he—.”

Laurent smiled before he could help himself. “I wondered how you would broach the subject. I…can’t think of it right now. I need to focus on the _Kallisti_ now. At least I will return the necklace to his sister and nephew, if—when I take back Vere.” Even as much as he trusted Damen, he could not say that he was torn over his own feeling of helplessness; he could not protect his men and he still felt this guilt over…over a traitor. “He’s just another casualty in my uncle’s quest for power.”

“I’ll kill him for it.” Damen promised. “I’ve never met the man but I’ll kill him. For the choice he forced on Rochert. For what he did to Nicaise…and to you.”

Breath froze in his chest and Laurent ached to push himself away from Damen.

Instead, he forced himself to remain very, _very_ still as his thoughts jumped frantically from point to point. _Cold hands piercing him_. Whispers in the court over the state of his virginity. Spots of blood on his sheets. _The smell of Paschal’s medicine_. Damen chanting his name over the rush of the waterfall. Pain and pleasure. Nicaise with a vial of poison. Rochert with his throat split open. _His gold hair fell in pieces around him._

“Nicaise.” He stated the simple fact as to how Damen had come to know. He had seen them sitting together next to the campfire, deep in heated conversation.

Damen remained remarkably calm. Calmer than Laurent thought he would be. “Apparently he found out that you told everyone some of the more intimate details as to his escape.” Damen did not sound disgusted at all. “’An eye for an eye’, I believe was his reasoning.” Something about the way he spoke—as well as knowing Nicaise’s vicious disregard for people’s feelings—made Laurent think that more details were given than he would have liked.

“It wasn’t my story to tell.” Laurent admitted. Ice was in his veins. “But I needed to tell you so that…you knew what we were up against.”

Damen remained silent, thinking.

For once, Laurent could not stand the silence, wondering what Damen could be thinking now that…now that he knew. He wanted to push Damen away so he could be alone and stare at the stars, alone with the shame of it all. But he didn’t. It would make him seem weak. Instead, he looked up at the stars until his eyes blurred.

“I hope…” His voice was unusually thick with emotion and he cleared his throat, “I hope that you’re wrong about the stars. I…wouldn’t want my family to see what has been left in Arles.”

A gentle kiss on his forehead and Laurent could have screamed.

Part of him would have felt better if Damen had pushed him away in repulsion; maybe it was his uncle’s ministrations that made Laurent crave the rejection of this kindness. It was unbearable.

He knew Damen would say something but what could he possibly say in such a situation to make… _anything_ better.

“I…think your brother would be proud of the man you are. Regardless of…what cruelties you had to endure.” Damen sounded so passionate, so full of conviction, Laurent felt it like a punch in the stomach.

“You don’t know my brother.”

Damen looked down. Laurent could feel his head shift and…god help him, he could not help but look up and meet that gaze. It was like Paschal’s gaze: no blame, no judgment, just looking at Laurent as he was. Not an object, not a filthy thing, not a prince; just Laurent.

“I don’t. And it is a great regret of mine. But I am coming to know you.”

Laurent exhaled.

This beautiful, noble Akielon fool seemed to know exactly what to say to destroy every barrier he had ever built up around himself. And the beauty of it was…that he probably didn’t even realize he could make Laurent come undone.

“We’re going to win this.” Damen continued. “I have faith in you.”

There was nothing more to be said for the moment and Laurent allowed himself to be held while his thoughts continued to bounce around at lightning speed. He had to look back at the stars to keep from saying anything too incriminating.

After a long moment, Damen began to play with Laurent’s hair.

Laurent leaned into the feeling, the warm fingers raising goosebumps on his sensitive scalp. The other hand painted patterns with a fingernail on Laurent’s bare shoulders. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that he would have to be honest with Damen someday and tell him everything. He _wanted_ to tell him.

“I cannot wait to see you with a crown on your head. It will be beautiful.”

“You can be there to see it placed on my head.” Laurent offered tentatively. “As a sign of goodwill from Akielos and…as my lover.”

Damen hugged him a little tighter, apparently delighted at the unusual sweetness. “You will be an excellent ruler. You care for your people and you fight for what you believe, even if you do have a tongue like an adder.” Laurent smiled in spite of himself. “I think…it would be my honor, to court you properly once we have seen this through.”

A bubble of happiness swelled in the very center of his chest. Though they had gotten the order a little backwards—fucking first and courting later—the potential, the ideas it brought to mind were more joyful than he could bear.

“I…I think I’d like that.”

For a long while, Laurent thought that Damen might press him. Press him for more details to the abuse of Arles or his feelings toward Rochert. Maybe he would make a gentle, passionate overture that Laurent would feel guilty for refusing. But Damen was more perceptive to Laurent’s desires than he may have let on. Because all he did was continue to caress Laurent until his hands went limp and his breathing became smooth and even.

Laurent looked at the handsome face, the fine form in front of him and could not believe that, at the moment, Damen was his. He hesitated for a moment before kissing the spot he knew Damen’s cheek dimpled.

Damen smiled in his sleep—wide and guileless with his eyes still closed—and then he snuggled closer to Laurent with a noise of contentment.

If Auguste and his mother and father were really in the stars, he hoped they could feel that the hands on him were warm. Warm and wanted.

 


	13. Chapter 13 (Damianos)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 13\. 'Since snakes shed their skin they are also seen as a symbol of rebirth, transformation and healing.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHHH Already the Kallisti is here? Now you all get to see some of Laurent's cleverness play out but first...let's have a little drama before we get there, shall we?  
> This chapter is a lot like the one where Laurent was captured by mercenaries: it's got a little bit of everything in it, starting with Damen being overprotective. My favorite.   
> Also this chapter has some of my favorite bits from the story, what with Nikandros being a dick to the Veretian soldiers, some of Nicaise's lines, and Damen's thoughts when he first see the Regent. Ah, enjoy everyone!

** Chapter 13 (Damianos) **

Damen had never been much of an actor. He could not hide his emotions and he wore his heart on his sleeve, so to speak. When he was happy, he smiled, when he was sad, he cried, and when he found out what horrors had been done to the man he loved…someone was going to die.

He vividly recalled the moment when Nicaise told him, angelic eyes flickering hellish orange in the firelight; he was angry and filled with poison and he wanted someone to taste even a sip of the pain he felt daily, Damen understood. But the boy had shrunk back in terror by whatever horrible emotion had revealed itself on Damen’s face.

When he woke up the next morning, it was with Laurent pressed sweet and sleep-warm against him, his long, choppy hair wound around Damen’s fingers. So lovely…

And then it all rushed back to him.

He clenched his jaw so hard that it felt like his teeth might break and clutched Laurent’s sleeping form closer to him so if he awoke he would not see Damen’s expression. It took him a moment or two to compose himself, just as it had the previous night. He did not want Laurent to think he was pitied or that Damen thought any less of him.

No.

The only thing that changed was how brutally he was going to execute the Regent of Vere.

Another protective kiss on the forehead and he saw the first snatch of dark blue.

“Are we leaving?” He asked, his voice still thick with sleep despite one eye being open. “We’re going to Ios? The _Kallisti_?”

Damen glanced up at the sky, still dark and only palest at horizon. It seemed a waste to leave this behind now that Laurent had a horse of his own again. Surely there was no harm…Damen kissed Laurent’s forehead and Laurent closed his eyes at the feeling. He was wavering between dreams.

“No. Sleep a little longer. You can rest.”

 

The extra rest might have done them good, as they rode hard for Ios over the next few days. It was going to be so close; they might arrive at the amphitheater with a few hours to spare but no more.

Laurent remained remarkably calm in spite of their time constraints.

He rode with elegant calm, never once suggesting to stop, save to allow the horses to drink. To keep the sun from beating down on his skin, he had recovered his black and gold headscarf from amongst their bags and wore it around his head as a scarf and cloak, while his ripped and dirty chiton covered the rest of his lily-petal body. A prince in tatters.

At night was the only time he truly let himself relax.

Mostly too tired to talk, Laurent simply stripped himself as far as he dared to let his body whiten under the gentler rays of the mid-spring moon. After the shyness of the first night, Laurent had sweetened considerably to Damen’s suggestions.

Damen had become somewhat of an expert on applying whatever medicinal ointment Paschal had given Laurent, though…he wondered how much good it would do so deep inside.

Still, he was pleased that Laurent continued to trust him with his body and Damen was becoming happily familiar with the spots inside of Laurent that made his hips wiggle. Not once had Damen offered to relieve his own pleasure just in case it made Laurent uncomfortable. Perhaps…when he could court Laurent properly, when all of this was over, they could make love without time constraints.

They reached the border of Ellium on the sixth day, the white marble wall announcing that they were a day and half’s ride from the capital of Ios. Ellium had one of the better-maintained garrisons at the border: the wall on the border stretched for miles in either direction and contained several checkpoints so that the soldiers could check incoming merchant caravans and any suspicious-looking parties attempting to make their way to Ios.

Damen led the group to a smaller checkpoint with much fewer travelers but still enough soldiers to recognize him.

Laurent tucked in the scarf a little closer around his features as Damen’s men recognized him.

“Y-Y—Exalted One!” One of the younger men exclaimed when he looked up at Damen and recognized him. “I-It’s…” Perhaps remembering that it was a little improper to be speaking directly to a member of the royal family, he trailed off into shocked, reverent silence.

Rather than overwhelm the man, Damen allowed Nikandros to request the captain of their outfit to come so he could explain.

To keep things simple for everyone, Damen allowed Nikandros, Jord, and Laurent to stay, though he kept Laurent half-shielded from view. The captain appeared alongside two other soldiers, after only a few moments of waiting and seemed surprised to see Veretians so far away from the border. “Exalted One, it is a joy to have you back at our borders. I assume you are riding for the _Kallisti_. Of course we will let you and your companions,” a few of them looked over at Laurent in hopes of catching a glimpse of the prince of Akielos’ _kallisti_ , “pass. And we wish you a safe and speedy journey to the capital.”

“I thank you,” Damen responded, deftly stepping to the side so he blocked Laurent from view. “We intend to make all haste to Ios once we pass through your gates.”

“Of course, you and your guests are more than welcome to pass.”

As the rest of their group passed through, Damen and Nikandros made small talk with the captain of the guards. “Preparations have begun then? Have the crowds begun to move toward the city?”

“Indeed, Exalted One,” the captain responded, puffing out his chest, “Every day more and more shipments have been arriving from the various farmers and craftsmen throughout the country. We have personally inspected over five hundred barrels of wine in the past week alone. It being your _Kallisti_ ,” Everyone paused as Nicaise glared at them from over Vannes’ arms, helpless at the sight of his angelic face, “erm—the excitement has sent Ios into a fever pitch.”

“And my Veretian guests?” Damen asked as lightly as he was able, balling one fist in his tunic. “Are they enjoying the Akielon hospitality?”

“I can only assume so; they have only just arrived recently but your father has been treating them as most honored guests. His Highness, the King of Vere has not yet been crowned but…” Damen felt the full indignity over the Regent bearing such a title, “apparently he is worried about _something_ , if I can be so bold.”

“Pray, continue.” Damen insisted.

“He has his own guard keeping watch in the city, especially at the gates and in the market places.” The captain shrugged, apparently oblivious of the fact that Damen looked to Nikandros and Laurent in horror. “A huge inconvenience from what I hear, but…who am I to say?”

“Thank you for the information.” Damen said, forcing himself to smile in spite of his alarm. “I’ll not soon forget it.”

Leaving the members of the border guard awed and their captain flattered by his praise, Damen was decided tense as he, Laurent, Nikandros and Jord remounted their horses and cantered up to the rest of the group. “We have a problem.”

Vannes looked thoroughly unimpressed. “I hope this comes across in the correct tone, but we’ve had problems ever since we began this misadventure. To which problem are you referring? Will I finally get to boot this bitch off my horse?”

Nicaise glared at her as though he longed to scratch her eyes out. “I’ll put poison in your wine, cunt.”

“Will you please _focus_?” Jord snarled.

Aimeric rode up next to him and placed a hesitant, soothing hand on Jord’s thigh. “What has happened?”

“The Regent of Vere has soldiers patrolling Ios.” Damen said in Veretian and Akielon. “At the main gates and the markets…I would be willing to bet he has them on duty at the palace, the amphitheater, and the ports as well…” Expressions were as he expected: horror, anger, discouragement…Nicaise actually went white with fear and Vannes—despite her love of irritating him—patted the spot over his heart in a gesture of protectiveness.

“They might not know about you coming, Your Highness.” Nikandros said to Laurent. “I worry they might be trying to intercept Nicaise, if he is as valuable to the Regent as you say he is.”

“What are our options?” Laurent asked, his eyes glittering with intensity. He needed this. They were too close to have it all taken away from him. “You’ve lived in Ios all your life; surely there are… _lesser_ - _known_ ways in and out?”

Damen had never needed to sneak in and out of the city, per se; he was the prince and he could go where he liked, when he liked.

His men on the other hand…

It was slippery Aktis who brightened after a few moments of thought. “There are the barracks by the Gates of Ophion, on the eastern side…technically it goes into the city, but they only allow soldiers past into the city. It’s so small and only used by the military that I doubt they would put any guards on it since no one is allowed to enter…except for perhaps, the prince himself?”

Damen looked from Aktis to Nikandros. “Is this true?”

Nikandros thought it over. “It is one of the smaller outposts. Far from the arena but…I doubt those men would take kindly to foreigners infringing on their duties. We could send scouts first.”

“And if not?” Damen responded.

It was Laurent who piped up next, his Akielon flawlessly cutting. “If that fails we could always climb on your shoulders and attempt to scale the wall.”

“We’ll think of something.”

If he had to lash Laurent to his back and swim around to the ports, he would do it. Perhaps, if worse came to worse, they could wade through the sewers; he relished the idea of Nicaise knee deep in muck and pissed as all hell, despite the inherent danger.

“Then we had best hurry.” Laurent murmured, his eyes focused south.

They reached the outskirts of Ios a little later than expected, simply due to the crowds flocking in for the _Kallisti_ and for the fact that halfway through the seventh day they came across their first group of Veretian soldiers, ostentatious for their yellow and red livery.

Thanks to the crowds and Laurent’s headscarf, they managed to avoid detection, though it set everyone on edge. Nicaise and Aimeric especially were white as parchment, even under the direct sun.

Time was counting down and Damen felt it acutely as they snatched sleep in shifts, avoiding the more populated areas by taking roundabout routes.

Ios was within an hour’s ride by dawn.

They could see the high, white walls of the main city from the road and it was by and far the most populated area they had been in their entire journey. People closed up their shops for the days of celebration and the roads were clogged with merchants and vendors from all over Akielos, rushing to get a spot to sell food and curios during the three-day festivities.

Any sign of red and gold had Damen touching the hilt of his sword instinctively.

“People are staring at us,” Nicaise had taken Laurent’s initiative and had covered himself with the cloak he had commandeered from Paschal.

“They’re staring at me.” Damen assured. “They recognize their prince but they won’t call out to me or bring attention to us. Calm yourself.” But he knew that was not entirely true; his people would know that this year was his _Kallisti_ and they would be looking at his companions to discern which was the most beautiful. “Are we close to the gate, Aktis?”

“Once we get past this hill, we can send scouts to go check the gate.” Aktis assured. “It’s twenty minutes if we ride hard.”

“Excellent. I’ll have you, Nikandros and Pallas go along with my seal.” He did not trust himself to leave Laurent alone.

The rest of their group watched the three of them go with no small amount of nerves. Even semi-hidden amongst a copse of trees did not fully hide the abundance of white skin that gave away their wintry lives. If any of the Veretian soldiers happened to catch sight of so much pale skin, of course they would find it curious enough to investigate.

Nicaise was biting his thumbnail from underneath his cloak, the other hand holding some sort of tiny glass phial; Aimeric was whiter than usual and Jord was speaking to him in hushed tones and clearing sweaty curls from his eyes. Damen longed to do so for Laurent but he knew by now that Laurent held their intimate moments as a preciously guarded secret.

“You’re not nervous.” He said after a long moment of staring at Laurent.

Laurent gave him a half smile. “I am better at hiding things than you are. But no, I’m not worried.” Even so, his dark eyes flicked to the walls on the horizon.

Damen counted the minutes in his head; a twenty-minute ride, ten to explain and another twenty to return. He desperately hoped they would be able to avoid detection for that hour.

Of course, given their track record, their luck could not hold.

Damen had been counting carefully when Laurent stiffened in the saddle and the hair on Damen’s body stood on end, as if he had been shocked by static. He took a deep breath and turned to look at Jord, hoping Laurent’s captain also felt the tension in the air. They heard Laurent’s name over the dull roar of Akielon.

“Go, go,” Damen hissed in Veretian, mostly to Laurent. “Lydos will lead; ride hard and I will bring up the rear. We’ll push through the gate if we must.” Laurent nodded and was not at all subtle as he spurred his horse forward and laid it to a gallop, his men racing behind him without question.

Damen drew his sword as a warning sign and he was pleased for the crowds because the Regent’s men were struggling to push through them, even though a few were on horseback.

Damen saw the crossbows and knew the cords of these ones would not snap. With a snarl, he followed his lover across the grassy fields. They had little more than a five minute head start and Damen heard the shouts of Veretian behind them. A crossbow bolt sailed wide of Huet’s flank.

“ _Weave!_ ” Damen shouted. Nicaise screamed as a bolt whizzed past Vannes’ head.

“Where is the gate?” Laurent yelled and he turned his head too abruptly. The scarf fell back from the wind and his wild hair spilled out in a golden beacon. No matter how swiftly he covered himself, his uncle’s men would have seen his hair and now he had a target on his back. The bolts whistled towards him now.

“It’s there!” Lydos cried, pointing from where they saw three figures clustered by a small outpost.

There was an inhuman scream and Laurent jerked to a halt in front of Damen as one of the bolts was embedded in the flank of his horse. Blood sprayed on Laurent’s grayish-white chiton and the horse reared in place at the pain.

“Laurent!” Damen bellowed, driving his own mount towards him.

Without flinching, Laurent released the reins and reached out his arms. His nails dug into the fabric of Damen’s chiton and Damen gripped him around the waist, hoisting Laurent in front of him without breaking stride. “ _NIKANDROS_!” Damen bellowed as he shielded Laurent with his body.

One of the dark figures at the gate turned and a moment later an arrow flew in the opposite direction, inciting shouts from the Veretian soldiers behind them. Damen knew not if the men guarding this gate had any intention of letting them pass but he was going to barrel through regardless.

Lydos was the first to reach the gate and Damen did not slow, his own soldiers leaping out of the way as his horses skidded through the narrow entrance. The horse longed to rear in the confined space and it took a moment for the whirlwind of activity to simmer down.

Laurent’s heartbeat was hammering through his tunic and Damen rubbed the center of his back as they listened.

Aktis, Pallas, Nikandros and the garrison members had slammed the doors behind them and Damen could hear Nikandros’ no-nonsense voice telling the Veretian men to kindly fuck off. Damen assumed that currently over ten crossbow bolts were aimed at his friend—more bows and spears aimed at them in turn—but Nikandros did not relent.

“This gate is for the exclusive use of the Akielon army. If you have any concerns I suggest you take them up with the _kyros_ of Ios or the head of the Akielon guard.” Damen laughed softly and Laurent looked up at him.

“What?”

“Nikandros _is_ head of the Akielon guard.”

Laurent also began to shake with silent laughter at this revelation. It was a good distraction as the entire group could only wait for the Veretians to leave. It took a good fifteen minutes before the door cracked open and Nikandros smiled in at them.

“Coast is clear, but we have to hurry. No doubt they are going to the main gate to alert their comrades. We have about a twenty-minute head start.” A small chip of gold sailed through the air and Damen caught his seal.

The captain of the guard came to give greeting to Damen as his men went to unbolt the door leading to the streets of Ios. “Exalted One. I hope your journey home was not,” he looked around at the panicked horses, blood-spattered Laurent, and the cluster of terrified, yet defiant Veretians, “stressful.”

“Not in the least.” Laurent responded in his clipped Akielon.

Although the men started at Laurent’s Akielon, Damen did not give them the chance to linger on his look as he began to give orders immediately. “As you men are unbolting that door, I need any of you that can be spared to send word on the hawks to the contingent at the coliseum that no member of the Veretian army are to pass, due to an investigation on a possible assassination attempt. I want no mention to any person who has passed through this gate either; our identities are to remain secret.”

“Of course,” One of the younger men nodded, “who was the assassination attempt upon, Exalted One?”

“Are your eyes just for decoration?” Laurent asked in disbelief.

“Tell them it was on me.” Nikandros chipped in before Laurent could verbally destroy the young man. He, Pallas and Aktis had remounted their horses and were waiting for the gates to be opened. “And any complaints, once again should be presented to the captain of the city guards.”

“You’re to be a busy man today, Nikandros.” Damen remarked, easing his horse around in the barracks so it was facing the gates into Ios.

“I find this preferable to snow.”

The young officer brought out the hawk—a small scroll laced to its graceful leg to send to the amphitheater—and peered out into the busy streets of Ios. With one arm, he waved them forward. “I see no men of Vere. Ride out before they come for you here, Exalted One.”

Having this contingency in place Damen followed Nikandros and Aktis out of the barracks, people jumping out of the way of so many horses.

“The arena for the _Kallisti_ is on the western side of city,” Damen explained in Veretian for Laurent’s confused men, “Pallas, Lydos and Aktis know these streets as well as any Akielon street urchin and they will try to maneuver us around the crowds, though it will take us longer to get there. The patrols must be quite extensive as well, so…refrain from speaking too loudly.” He gave a pointed look at Nicaise who glared in response. A hawk soared overhead, showing them the right direction.

Laurent and Damen took up spot near the middle of their convoy as their horses trotted through the familiar cobblestone streets of Ios, these winding alleys wide enough only for two horses abreast of one another. There were very few people out and about in these alleys, what with the celebration, but Damen could hear the distinct sound of a crowd from a few streets over.

Laurent looked around in quick flicks of his eyes, attempting to take in as much of his surroundings as he could. Damen longed to ease him, to let him know that he need not be so on edge in Damen’s home.

But it was not the case, and he knew it.

With so many Veretian soldiers about, they could not rest until reaching the safety of the coliseum’s antechambers. The silence around them was eerie, devoid of even Nicaise’s constant bitching.

Laurent heard it first, turning to Damen, eyes wide. “Do you hear it?”

Damen paused and listened carefully, his horror growing as he heard the familiar sound of horses running over cobblestones. And it was coming closer to them. “Go, _go_!” He hissed and Nicaise stifled a scream as a Veretian soldier rode into view behind them.

“THERE THEY ARE!” The man shouted in Veretian and he notched an arrow.

The arrow sailed wide and Damen nudged his horse into a run. Action exploded around him as everyone pushed their horses to run, tearing through the tiny alleys. Damen heard Laurent gasp and the familiar whistling sound of a flying arrow. He twisted in saddle and saw it hurtling towards him; without pause, he lifted his arm and caught the arrow in midair, the wood burning his hand, the force wrenching his shoulder backwards. Laurent looked up at him in shock over the display of power.

“Are you alright?” he gripped the fabric of Damen’s chiton as they skidded around a corner.

Damen nodded, too focused to even feel the pain.

“Exalted One, go!” Nikandros reined in his horse. Jord, Huet, Guymar, and Aktis also followed suit, drawing weapons in preparation for a fight. “We will block them while you ride for the amphitheater. Go!”

Damen nodded, in assent. They could not very well kill Nikandros without an incident and it would keep Laurent, Aimeric, and Nicaise safe.

Lydos was leading now, Lazar and Pallas hard at his heels as they barreled through the streets. He could see the multicolored pennants flying from the coliseum; they were within fifteen minutes of the place. But Damen had a feeling they had not shaken the soldiers completely and he rode accordingly. It happened so quickly.

Another arrow and Damen heard the scream.

His horse turned in place and he saw Nicaise white in the face as he looked at the arrow sticking out of Vannes’ side. Her clothes were beginning to stain red from where she had shielded Nicaise from taking the bolt in the throat. Vannes’ mouth was set in a grim line, trying to keep herself calm for Nicaise’s sake.

Lazar was a better shot and caught the Veretian man in the throat before he could notch another arrow, Paschal riding back to see to Vannes. “We have to keep moving,” she insisted, her brow perspiring from the pain, “We’re so close.”

“You cannot!” Paschal said.

“Bitch you’ve been shot!” Nicaise’s eyes were wide and watering, “You’re bleeding! Oh god, you’re _bleeding_!” Laurent looked truly pained but they did need to make a decision.

Lazar, Orlant, and Lydos had surged forward to engage the Regent’s guards with swords and spears, while Aimeric and Pallas were shooting at them. Vannes needed immediate medical attention and they were going to be late for the _Kallisti_. Damen looked to Laurent who seemed torn.

“We ride on.” He ordered after a long moment, “We have to.”

All of his men knew that he had to do this for the sake of Vere, but it was hard to leave behind loyal companions.

“We must split up!” Damen shouted over the sounds of battle. “Paschal, take Vannes and Nicaise out of here; treat her as best you can and make haste for the coliseum. They’ll want to go after Laurent.”

“Pallas, Aimeric, ride with us!” Laurent ordered, “Lazar can you hold them off?”

“Of course!” Lazar responded by punching one soldier so hard that he fell off his horse. “These bastards can’t fight! We’ll protect the fair maiden,” Vannes hissed, though that could have been due to Paschal pulling at the arrow shaft inside of her, “Go on ahead and we will see them there, I swear.”

For a moment, the sight did not look real; Nicaise looking to be on the verge of tears as Paschal rapidly attended to Vannes. The Veretian soldiers were dwindling in the face of Lazar, Orlant, and Lydos’ skills, blood splattering over the cobblestones of Ios. They had brought the fight to Damen’s home and he meant to see it through until the end.

Damen spurred his horse into a run, Pallas and Aimeric following close behind.

 

Charls and his assistants were waiting for them in the nearly empty antechamber, Charls wringing his hands with the anxiety of them being late. When he caught sight of Laurent approaching, a wave of relief took over before being replaced by panic yet again.

“Your Highness! Thank god you’ve arrived! They’ve already called out the other competitors and—.”

Laurent brushed past him, going for the neatly folded chitons that were stacked on a low table. “Is everything prepared as per my instructions?” Hastily he yanked out fabrics, tossing the chitons behind him. Damen was thrown a fresh white chiton with a gold and black border, a long red cape made of fine Kemptian silk and a golden lion pin with a matching chain to clasp the cloak in place. Pallas and Aimeric were given simple, matching chitons in a light wash of red.

“O-of course, Your Highness!”

“Good.” Laurent was a whirlwind, yanking out a length of black. “Damianos, you, Pallas and Aimeric wash up as best you can. Charls, please prepare all of the things we need to take out with us—.”

After this brief order, Damen needed no further invitation and hurried back behind a partition, where he knew a standing bath was waiting alongside a generous assortment of soaps, perfumes, and oils.

Aimeric and Pallas followed him not long after and Aimeric lost all of his Veretian sensibilities in the rush, as he stripped down to skin and began to douse himself with water. They all washed hurriedly, tossing the soap to one another, Aimeric dabbing his peach-pink body with perfume while he dried himself off, Damen and Pallas smearing oil on their muscles until they glistened like polished copper.

When they were cleaned, dried, oiled and perfumed, they turned to the chitons.

Damen had to hand it to Laurent: he knew fine cloth. Pallas and Aimeric—both naturally handsome lads—looked positively resplendent now and would turn heads at any royal Akielon banquet. Pallas’ skin and black curls shimmered and the cut of his chiton only highlighted his fine, muscular form. Aimeric’s chestnut curls were also polished but on him the red chiton had altogether another effect; with the red-pink undertones of his skin, he looked constantly in a demure blush in a way that would make men want to push him up against a wall and slide hands up his skirt.

In the large looking glass, Damen caught sight of himself and was pleased to find Laurent could dress him like no other.

His red cape fell to just the right length without brushing the stone floors, the gold accents gave him a look of wealth and power without being flashy, and the chiton showcased just the right amount of musculature. Given a crown of golden laurels, he would look like a proper king.

When they emerged back into the antechamber, Charls actually stood at the sight of them, his and his men’s mouths falling open without realizing.

Laurent also turned, and his eyes widened at the sight of Damen in full regalia.

“You clean up well, Damianos.” He said in a tone similar to the one he had affected when he asked Damen to lick him in the forest. Damen cursed their lack of time or he would have pulled Laurent behind the partition. But…

“You didn’t clean up at _all_!” Damen gasped.

In comparison to his three companions, Laurent looked absolutely horrible. He had not bathed so his pale skin was caked in dirt, sweat, and blood from his injured horse; his golden hair was wild and windswept, covering most of his features, as he had not even seen the need to comb it. At least his chiton was new, but it matched his now-raggedy headscarf in that it was ink black with the golden scale pattern that caught the light.

He looked like a horrifying mix between a street urchin, an old lady, and someone who was going to a funeral.

Laurent crossed the room in three long strides and pulled Damen down by his neck. Damen surrendered to the kiss, the two of them pressing together in a promise for what was to come later. Damen was vaguely aware that Aimeric was gasping in surprise and Charls and his men were clearing their throats in attempt to ignore the public display of affection; apparently Laurent was no longer concerned about keeping their relationship a secret.

Laurent separated with a hungry sound, licking his lips so they were shiny. “Trust in me. We will win this.”

Damen looked deep in those blue eyes he had come to love and could not do anything but believe him. “We will win this.”

“We will also bring what you ask for, Your Highness.” Charls said in an attempt to break the sexual tension. “Erm, Exalted One.” He added upon further remembrance of Damen’s identity. Laurent nodded at him in thanks.

They carefully picked up their weapons, Damen his sword, Laurent and Aimeric their daggers, and Pallas the bow and quiver he had stolen from the dead mercenaries before Damen steeled himself and walked down the dark corridor. Laurent’s hand was resting lightly in his.

While Pallas, Aimeric, and Charls’ entourage were ushered into the assistants’ chambers so that the process outlined by Laurent could be described to them, Damen and Laurent were led down the hall that would take them to their waiting room.

Damen had never actually been in these halls, the ones that went under the coliseum. Lit every few feet by torches, the ground rumbled the closer they came to the crowds in a way that vibrated in the blood and made the adrenaline pulse. In the days of old, when Akielos was still untamed and barbaric, men and women had been forced to fight to the death in the dust of the arena and this hallway was their potential last walk. But the dirt arena had been replaced by marble and so the halls had been replaced by paintings of previous _Kallisti_ ; Damen recognized some of the faces, some of the stories from his childhood. Laurent would join them on these walls, gold of hair, fine of face, clad in black. He smiled at the thought of it.

There was a guard waiting for them at the gate and he bowed as they came into sight. “Exalted One. _Kallisti_. There are twelve competitors and as you have arrived late, you will be the last to go. I believe we are on the fifth competitor as we speak. May the gods grant you favor.” He motioned to plush benches where they could sit while they waited.

Laurent whispered in Veretian above the hum of the crowds above them. “We are to wait then? We cannot see the other competitors?”

In the semi-darkness, Damen placed kisses on Laurent’s trembling knuckles. “To prevent copying, no we cannot watch. The other competitors will finish first and stand off to the side. And we will go last.” It was not ideal; in many _Kallisti_ the judges had made the decision before the middle competitors even took to the center and the crowds grew complacent under the sun. It was rare the last competitor was chosen as the winner.

Laurent nodded. “And they will be in the stands. Your father. My uncle. Nicaise. Nikandros. Jord. All of them.” It was more of a desperate kind of prayer. A hope that their companions would be in the crowd and not dead in the streets of Ios.

“They would not let you down.”

The first round of cheers was enough to rattle dust and plaster down from the ceiling and Laurent shifted a little closer to Damen. They waited seemingly for ages and Laurent inhaled sharply whenever more cheers came.

“When I return to Vere,” he whispered, “how will you court me, Damianos of Akielos?”

Emboldened by the need to comfort Laurent of his nervousness, Damen kissed Laurent on the forehead. “Every kindness you have never known, I will give it to you. If you’d have me I would leave gifts for you in your moments of repose, give you murmurings of love when you chose to walk with me, and—if your Veretian council overtaxes you or does not appreciate you as they should—I will steal you away to the summer palace of Lentos and not return you until every Veretian begs on their knees for your return.”

Laurent was smiling by the end of Damen’s profession, their fingers interlinked and tight. “A beautiful dream.”

“Not a dream for much longer.” Damen responded. But he continued in this vein through the hush and the cheers until the doors close to them opened from the outside.

Damen and Laurent were on their feet immediately, though they did not drop each other’s hand. The two Akielon soldiers on the outside of the door bowed low in the sight of Damen, “Prince Damianos, Exalted One, you and your _kallisti_ are being summoned to stand before your father and the kyroi. If you would please follow me.”

“I love you Laurent of Vere.” Damen whispered in Veretian under his breath the moment his guards turned their backs. Laurent went pink and tucked the scarf closer around his face so his features were completely obscured from view.

“I love you too.” The words were almost drowned out by the chanting of Damen’s name as they emerged into the light and Damen smiled wide.

There was something terrifying, even for a Crown Prince, about the arena.

The arena itself was fine white marble, strewn with flower petals from previous competitors, the walls hung with crimson hangings emblazoned with the black lions of Akielos. The stands were packed with people, all of who were delighted with the reappearance of their prince and they created a dull roar that drowned out all thought. As much as he searched on his long walk to center stage, Damen knew he would not be able to locate Laurent’s men or his own, Paschal or Vannes or Nicaise who—if they had managed to make it here—would only find seats in the farthest sections: the bleeder section, named for the only thing those spectators would see during the gladiator games.

Off to the side, standing in a lovely tableaux were their competitors: two men and nine women, all of them attractive people, draped in the fashionable, colorful garments similar to ones that Jokaste had worn during her _Kallisti_. In all shades of skin and hair, there were truly some beauties in their ranks but…not even the loveliest of them could hold a candle to Laurent at his filthiest.

And, in the box with the finest view, were the judges and honored guests.

Damen took them in quickly. There was his father, crowned in a circlet of golden laurels, watching intently as his son took center stage; next to him was Damen’s half-brother Kastor, whispering to his wife Jokaste, pregnant and resplendent in a dress that began red and faded to pink over her broadening stomach. There were the _kyroi_ , familiar and judging him harshly, Nikandros out of breath—Damen realizing with glee that no Veretian soldiers would be let in to alert their usurper—and then, at the left hand of his father was a man Damen hated on sight.

Slender elegant hands were folded over his mouth as he watched the proceedings, wearing that crimson and yellow-gold that Damen now hated, Laurent’s golden circlet on his brow. The Regent of Vere was neither overtly old nor unattractive and there was an intelligent, cunning look to him but Damen could not help but hate him with more vitriol than he had ever felt in his entire life.

 _Traitor. Usurper. Monster. Dead._ Damen hoped the Regent of Vere could see the hate in his eyes from this distance. _You put your dirty hands on Laurent and I will kill you for it._

Silence deafened around them as the crowds took sight of Damen’s _kallisti_.

In slow steps, he and Laurent had walked up the steps of the raised marble dais and now stood at the center in view of all, surrounded by Damen’s countrymen and heat-limp flower petals. Laurent’s grip was vice-like on Damen’s hand.

Damen knew what they saw and understood their confusion. The _kallisti_ was the most beautiful, to be dripping in gold and jewels, arrayed in colorful cloth. Not dressed in funereal garb, covered in dirt, and hiding the face. They must have thought Damen had gone mad on his journey.

Giving Laurent’s hand a reassuring squeeze, Damen turned his attention to their now-silent audience.

The acoustics of the arena were such that a loud voice would carry even to the bleeder seats far in the back. “My people, my _kyroi_ , my father,” He said in a voice slightly louder, more commanding then usual, “I have returned from my time in search to…show you whom I have chosen.” He turned to Laurent and kissed the hand he held. “Who will win.”

Only because he was their prince, did people not giggle. But Damen could feel the want of it hanging tense in the air; Kastor, the _kyroi_ , and his father probably thought the display was shameful but Damen trusted Laurent.

Laurent nodded and stepped a little in front of Damen, releasing his hand.

That must have been the signal, for a murmur rose through their audience. Aimeric and Pallas and Charls and his men walked out from under the royal box—clever, so that the Regent would not see Aimeric’s face.

The murmurs from the crowd increased at the sight of the two handsome helpers as, at this point, they appeared more pleasing to the eye than Damen’s own _kallisti_. Aimeric did not blink he was so terrified, but to his commendation, he did not trip while walking up the steps. Damen still had no idea what Laurent was planning and watched carefully what each man was carrying.

Pallas carried white cloth, a decent stack of cloth that looked a lot like towels, while Aimeric balanced various china pots and a small leather wrap in his arms. Charls and his men struggled to hoist their own cargo: fine china ewers nearly half as tall as they were, Guilliame struggling with a white china bowl as large around as the platters the Akielon cooks used to serve entire roasted sheep. For a moment, the wicked little boy inside of Damen longed for them to trip and shatter the china, if only to ease the tension.

But no one fell and the supplies were placed at Laurent’s filthy feet.

As Charls and his men bowed respectfully, taking their leave to go watch the proceedings in the stands, Damen could not help but notice the steam rising from the large china ewers. He looked up at Laurent and he knew—now he knew what this clever, beautiful prince was playing at.

Laurent smiled from under the shadows of his headscarf.

“Damianos…I’ve been wanting this almost ever since I first met you.” Laurent said, motioning Aimeric forward. Aimeric handed Damen the familiar leather pouch with shaking hands. “Will you cut my hair?”

Damen unraveled the pouch, his head spinning. He remembered the brothel in Fortaine, the mountain men from the inn, Laurent refusing to bet gold on the card games…instead his winnings now rested in Damen’s hands.

The familiar glint of the silver scissors caught the light.

 


	14. Chapter 14 (Laurent)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 14\. 'The way to tell the difference between a venomous coral snake and a harmless milk snake is an adage referring to the bands of colors on their bodies. When red is next to yellow the snake is deadly; when red is next to black, the snake is harmless.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Kallisti!  
> Ok so I based this entire story around this scene and the snake fact from above (most of the evil people in this story have been wearing something red and yellow); if you haven't figured out by now as well, the Kallisti is based on the competition of the same name where Paris must choose which is the loveliest of the three goddesses.  
> This was my favorite bit to write and I love the drama of it all! Laurent knows how to work his angles ;) I also realized while I was writing this story that not once in my stories have I given the Regent what he TRULY deserves. I amended that with this chapter.  
> Also here is the final piece of art drawn for the story (and the only one I specifically requested; all the others were the artists' choice) so once again, big shout out to Cannedebonbon! I have to say as much as I adored all the drawings, this one is by far my favorite!  
> Next chapter is the last one and will be posted on October 5th along with the next chapter in my ASOIAF/GOT AU!

** Chapter 14 (Laurent) **

Laurent had prepared himself for this.

From the moment Damen had told him of the _Kallisti_ , of all the wild displays and showy competitors, he knew that he would have to play this audience in a similar way to how he would seduce the Veretian court. So overcome with exaggerated beauty and finery and excessive showmanship, it would be the simple things, the raw beauty that would make a lasting impact.

So he came to these people as filthy and unappealing as possible; they would see the change in him, watch him shed this false outer layer, watch him rise from the dead, so to speak.

He found his own idea terrifying but…he trusted Damen and would show no fear. He was going to win this.

Once Damen began to realize what Laurent had been planning—and it had taken him long enough—Laurent turned so his back was towards his uncle. Even if his uncle recognized him solely based on the state of his hair, the man would not see his face until he was clean and defiant. He could only hope that his uncle would not try to escape during his testimony. He _would_ like to see Nikandros tackle his uncle though…

Steeling his nerves, Laurent unraveled the scarf from around his head, letting it fall to the ground and coil at his feet. His hair, half matted and sweaty, half haystack stuck out around his head in a wild halo. There was a collective gasp throughout the arena at the state of his hair, but Laurent refused to let it bother him. It was not even the most scandalous thing he was going to do this afternoon. That was going to come next and it required even more courage.

Before he could lose his courage, Laurent unpinned the top of his chiton and pulled at the sash round the center so the chiton joined the scarf on the ground. He had entertained the thought of doing this completely nude, as the Akielons had done in the past, but he wanted no one other than Damen to see his body completely naked so he wore a loincloth underneath. If his audience had any reaction to this, he tuned it out for his own sanity and let the thousands of eyes drink him in. It was not a nice feeling, to have so many people watching him, hungrily lapping up the length of his legs, the curve of his back and hips, the muscles in his torso… But this staring was preferable to even one evening in the Veretian court. At least no one would try to touch him. Damen would cut them down where they stood if they tried and even now he looked as though he wanted to take Laurent in his arms and physically shield him from view.

It gave him the confidence to move forward.

He brushed his fingers across Damen’s knuckles to build the courage as he took slow steps to the washbasin to mask the trembling of his legs. When he stood in the bowl he turned back to Damen, unblinking he was so focused, and made his request.

“Will you attend me, Damianos?”

When Laurent met Damen’s eyes, his nervousness dried up. This beautiful Akielon prince had cut a wild swath through both of their nations, would move heaven and earth for Laurent, and the itch…it was back, though Laurent would never indulge here. He smiled wide; what did they have to fear over a bath?

“O-Of course.” Damen gasped and he sounded parched.

With Aimeric and Pallas standing by to hand Damen what he needed, Damen could focus solely on washing the dirt and blood from Laurent’s skin. In one stride, Damen was next to him, his enormous body a literal partition around Laurent’s and Laurent relaxed.

Without removing his eyes from Laurent, Damen extended his hands. From his peripheral, Laurent could see Pallas’ oiled muscles flexing as he lifted one of the heavy pitchers of steaming hot water and passed it on to Damen; it appeared tremendously heavy but Damen hoisted it into the air as if it weighed nothing at all. Before Laurent could truly appreciate the show of strength, a stream of warm water was poured over his semi-naked body.

He felt his skin flush from the heat and the attention. He had seen himself after a bath and knew the effect would be erotic.

He remembered the night in the hot springs of Vere…the way Damen had looked at him. He wondered if that was when Damen had fallen in love with him.

Questions for later…

Of course one jug of water would not cleanse him completely and Aimeric brought forward a thick bar of white soap. Laurent stood entranced as he watched Damen lather up his hands—Pallas and Aimeric, those crafty brats, being so kind as to not provide Damen with a washcloth. His large, warm hands…clever fingers…all the way up to his wrists as wet as it had been in their private cave. Laurent watched, entranced, as soapsuds slid over his knuckles and palms, and the desire inside of him only flared as he remembered that those hands would soon be running over his body. He could easily forget that they were in front of a crowd for that.

When Damen laid his palms flat on Laurent’s back, the familiar warmth raised every hair on his skin. He shuddered in one long line from the skin Damen touched to his scalp and toes.

His eyes closed so that he could just feel the sensations. Damen rubbed light circles up and down his back and Laurent recalled a similar feeling when they had curled together wet and half frozen in the barn in Vere. Warm hands massaged his neck, his chest, his stomach—did the gasp come from his own throat or the thousands around them?—and he could have melted into the ceramic dish beneath him.

Warm water, warm hands down the legs and Laurent longed to cross them. _The first time they met, the first sight of Damen, Laurent had ached to cross his legs. Whose seed spilled down his thighs? Damen’s or his own?_

His body was filthy but Damen’s hands were clean. He made things clean…

Damen had crouched to his knees—was seeing the future king of Akielos kneeling before Laurent a scandalous thing?—and had taken each of Laurent’s feet in his hands to wash. Two of his hands could almost encase Laurent’s foot and he kissed the clean tops when he had finished; it looked as though he were worshipping Laurent, like those paintings in the books about Akielos. _Men kissing cold statues until the marble breathed to life._

It felt good to feel clean.

Laurent kept his eyes closed as Damen accepted a towel from Pallas and began to pat him dry. Then came the lotion from Aimeric.

Though Laurent refused to wear perfume, the lotion had a spicy smell that reminded him of the scent of Damen’s skin when he sweated, when he enfolded Laurent in the recesses of his cloak. He shuddered as Damen rubbed the lotion onto the bare curve of his ass. _Further in, touch me more_ …

Laurent was so sensitive to touch that even the feeling of Damen’s chiton brushing against bare skin made him want to moan.

“I smell like you.” He whispered, an illicit secret between lovers in front of thousands. He kept his voice low enough that not even Pallas and Aimeric would be able to hear his ill-timed flirting.

Damen made a sound halfway between a groan and a growl and his grip took on a possessive touch. “Don’t tempt me with this now, Laurent. I have a beautiful bed…only a few moments ride from here. When we’ve finished…”

“Rub me faster then.” Laurent had a bubble of nervous laughter in his voice, knowing he was baiting Damen to lust on purpose. “And try to focus on something other than your arousal.”

“I-I’m not—.” Damen was flustered, the lie on his lips.

“Don’t you lie to me, Damianos. I’m almost naked and slick as our time in the forest. If the front of your chiton is not rising at this moment, then I’m going to take a hard line with trade in Akielos when I am crowned king.”

Damen laughed softly. “It alarms me that your cruel threats bring me so much pleasure.” One hand ran gently over Laurent’s heart and Laurent wondered if he could hear it pounding.

“It alarms me that…I cannot imagine life without your hands on my body.”

Damen inhaled and he pressed his large body close so that Laurent could hear his matching, thundering heartbeat. “Such a thing…you need never worry about it ever again. I do not intend to let you leave my arms.”

“A fate I relish.”

When Damen finally finished rubbing the lotion on Laurent’s skin, Laurent felt comfortable opening his eyes. He tried to avoid the crowd by looking over his shoulder and seeing Damen, wiping off his hands so that he would have a more controlled grip on the delicate scissors.

“ _Damen_.” He did not even recognize the voice as his own.

Damen looked up at him and smiled, his dark cheek dimpling deeply. “Are you ready?” When Laurent nodded, Damen stepped so close, Laurent could feel the heat in a familiar curve against his back. “Just relax then.” Damen’s breath was right by his ear and Laurent couldn’t help but imagine how lewd of a picture they painted together like this.

“I will.”

Laurent’s eyes swam as he forced himself to stare ahead and the audience blurred into a massive wall of brown. He was determined to keep his eyes open for the entire cut but of course Damen destroyed his resolve with a single, gentle touch.

Damen ran his fingers through Laurent’s hair and Laurent closed his eyes just so the wealthy people in the first rows would not see his eyes roll back into his head. He could feel as Damen fluffed up the strands, checking the length and making decisions on where he would cut. Laurent had forced him to practice in preparation for this moment.

Laurent made a small noise of concern the moment he first heard the familiar sound of his hair being sliced and he remembered it raining in chunks down at his feet. Of course Damen heard and he stopped.

“It’s me. And the next thing I cut off after this will be your uncle’s hands. He’ll never touch you again.”

“A pleasant thought.” Laurent said, smiling as Damen tilted his head up for a better angle.

Damen spoke softly as he worked, joking and complimenting in turn to keep Laurent at ease and make him smile. “Your hair is so beautiful. Did I ever tell you that? The color, the feeling…When I first met you, all I wanted to do was run my hands through it. You would have gutted me with that dagger but I think it would have been worth it.”

Laurent laughed a little at that. “I wouldn’t—well, maybe I would have stabbed you in the hand but…this feels so wonderful. I would say, don’t stop but I wonder about the rate of bald _kallisti_ being chosen?”

Damen had to pause for a moment to laugh. “Don’t say things to make me laugh; I’ll ruin your hair.”

“I wouldn't know what that feels like.”

Damen laughed again and he began to get the finer hairs at the base of Laurent’s neck. Already his head felt lighter with the longer parts gone. A large hand brushed spare hairs off of his back and shoulders and suddenly, through his eyelids, it appeared as though the sun had set in a span of seconds. Laurent opened his eyes to see Damen standing in front of him now.

Gold rained in pieces around him and Damen smiled as he began to see the effects of his barbering skills. When he sheathed the scissors back in the pouch, Laurent finally breathed out, his heart pounding.

The stands could have been empty for all Laurent cared.

Damen’s grin was so wide, Laurent thought his heart might break at the sight of it. He had never seen that sparkling, wide-eyed wonder outside of their sojourn behind the waterfall and their time in the darkness of the campsite. It almost didn’t seem real that someone was looking at _him_ with such an expression…

Gentle, always gentle, Damen arranged Laurent’s hair to his liking, mostly smoothing it back so that he could better see Laurent’s face. Laurent felt himself blushing like a virgin girl.

“You’re… _perfect_.” Damen said after he had gotten his fill.

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“You told me not to, so I tell no lies.”

When Laurent managed to tear his eyes away from Damen, he remembered how truly naked he was and just how many people were seeing him like this. Determined not to let his embarrassment show on his face, he simply smoothed his expression and turned back over to Aimeric and Pallas. “I need the next chiton, please.”

Aimeric and Pallas, he noticed, would not meet his eye, both of them blushing hot. Aimeric actually had his legs crossed and Laurent didn’t know whether to be ashamed, proud, or annoyed over his allure. He could only hope the rest of the audience and the judges were having a similar reaction.

“Sometime this afternoon would be preferable.” Laurent remedied when neither one of them made a move.

Jerking them out of their bashful stupor, Pallas hurried forward with the final piece of cloth and Aimeric crouched at Laurent’s feet to gather the discarded black garments. Damen helped Laurent out of the water-filled china bowl onto the warm, dry marble and he took the chiton from Pallas.

Here it was. The last step. And then…

He could not concentrate on anything else but keeping his heartbeat at a steady pace as Pallas and Damen deftly wrapped him in the chiton. Laurent only moved once, to untie the wet loincloth, once his body was covered, to keep the water from ruining the look of the cloth.

They stepped away from him, feet moving but eyes unwavering on his body. Laurent looked at his freshly pinned chiton. Much like the previous chiton he had discarded, it featured a scale pattern that caught the light in golden flashes as he moved, but the cloth itself was white. He knew he would be completely unrecognizable now that he was clean and not wearing funeral colors. It was only then that he turned to face his audience. _Laurent of Vere, back from the dead_.

He was vaguely aware that most of the audience members within view were wearing the same addle-pated expression that Pallas and Aimeric had on seeing him; even Damen’s half brother and the middle-aged _kyroi_ were leaning forward in their seats, knuckles white. Laurent ignored them all. Only one man needed to see his miraculous rebirth.

Laurent grinned wide and triumphant as he locked eyes with his uncle.

Part of him was surprised that the man hadn’t tried to bolt halfway through, but then…that was his uncle’s way; he overestimated himself. Even though Laurent stood before him, he remained poised and puissant, confident that he would prevail no matter what Laurent threw at him. Uncle’s smile was sharp, his blue eyes flashed with warning and his hands would be cold. _No more hair left for you to cut._

All eyes were on Laurent.

“You…” It was Theomedes, Damen’s father—and Laurent could see the resemblance in the strong jaw and smiling eyes—who broke the silence that had gripped the arena, “You are the _kallisti_ of my son, Damianos. He has…” Theomedes seemed choked for words, “chosen well in you. Please step forward and tell us your story.”

Laurent smiled in a way he had seen Nicaise do when he wanted something sparkly and stepped forward, but only so far that he was still within Damen’s reach.

“Thank you, Exalted One,” he said, inclining his head in deference, “I am…happy to stand before you.” A deep breath and Laurent tilted his chin up in defiance. “My name is Laurent of Vere, son of the dead King Aleron and Queen Hennike, brother of the dead Prince Auguste, nephew to…a usurper who tried to have me killed.” The tension that had been pulled tight snapped on those words and the entire amphitheater erupted with thousands of people talking, amazed on seeing the Prince of Vere.

Laurent waited for them to pause their shock so that he could continue speaking. He did not blink as he kept eye contact with Damen’s father.

 _A snake in the grass. Blue wax imprinted with stars._ Even now, Laurent could remember what he had written to King Theomedes, explaining his situation. The sparkle in his eye that reminded Laurent so much of Damen told him that the letter had been read and believed.

“You make a bold claim, young man.” Theomedes raised a hand to silence his people, “please tell us of how you and my son came to this city.”

“My nephew disappeared almost three months ago.” Laurent’s uncle finally spoke and Laurent felt his jaw clench at the familiar horrible sound. “Kidnapped by his own captain of the guards. Months of searching the countryside of Vere with no results. I can only hope this young man isn’t an imposter.” Even Nikandros, who had been no great fan of Laurent’s, glared with distaste at the Regent.

Theomedes nodded sagely. “Let us hear what he has to say before we pass judgment.”

Laurent felt Damen move protectively behind him, as if he were going to sweep Laurent under his cape like they had done in the snowy woods. But they were no longer in Vere; he wasn’t afraid and he didn’t have to hide anymore.

Squaring his shoulders, Laurent began his story.

In the beginning he told of his time in Vere in halting tones—omitting some of the more unsavory details, of course—but when he got past the parts where he had escaped his uncle’s torture and the mercenaries who had chased him, when he got to the part where he met Damen in the tower…his tone changed. His body flushed and his confidence grew, as had his love for Damen. He did not know how long he spoke, but his audience was still rapt even after he had gotten them to where he was now. His voice was not tired, but he was unusually fiery, almost trembling with emotion.

“I have had to run from my own country’s soldiers through the streets of Ios. I had to abandon the men loyal to me and walk into the unknown. I had to…show myself in front of all of these people on the very faintest hope that my appearance will somehow lend credibility to my story! I want what is mine. And as the Prince of Vere—the _last_ prince of Vere—I want my country back.”

There was a long pause where the _kyroi_ muttered amongst themselves and uncle bored a hole in Laurent with his eyes. The only ones who looked at him with a level, believing gaze were King Theomedes, Nikandros, and Damen’s pregnant sister-in-law, Jokaste. She looked at him, beautiful as she was, and nodded in acknowledgement; she understood him.

Laurent was suddenly seized with the crippling fear that the others might not believe his story.

Desperation clutched him and he reached for his dagger. “This was given to me by my brother, the late Crown Prince Auguste. His royal seal is on the hilt…and mine is on this.” The seal he had kept tied to the hilt of his dagger, “I pray you would recognize it, Exalted One, given closer inspection.”

“I can also—.” Damen strode forward, impatience etched on his handsome face.

Theomedes raised his hand for silence. “I believe you, Laurent of Vere.”

Pandemonium exploded throughout the audience at this declaration.

“Nephew,” Of course his uncle had to put in his act on and pretend as though he cared, “You return unharmed. I can rest at ease.” Damen pushed forward so he was half in front of Laurent, shielding him. “We must get you back to Arles immediately. For the benefit of the council.”

“ _Liar_!” Someone screamed in Veretian from the audience when people had settled down and Laurent recognized the hellish screech. He laughed as everyone looked for the source. “ _Fucking liar!_ He’s going to try and kill you and I have _proof_!” Uncle looked truly monstrous for a moment as he saw Paschal and Lydos unsuccessfully trying to get a furious Nicaise to sit down. Lazar was laughing and Vannes looked too gray to be of any help. “ _PROOF_!” So they lived. And somehow had gotten seats in the middle of the stands.

Nicaise, clever Nicaise. Laurent would have never allowed him to face so much danger except…

Tucked inside his bloodied nightgown, next to the sapphires and the empty medicine pot and the poison he would use to kill himself if caught were a set of scrolls. In their conversation by the river, Laurent found himself with something he had never had before.

 _“I found his hidden documents, Laurent.” Those enormous blue eyes were wide with his adrenaline and fear. “I have proof in his hand that he…had someone shoot Auguste that…he was going to try and kill you and frame Jord. He’s been planning this out for years…grooming Aimeric to…help…”_ What choice did Laurent have but to bring Nicaise with him? It was death otherwise for the boy and this proof would buy him safety in Vask, Patras, or Akielos.

He could prove to Theomedes…he could get his army if need be.

Theomedes smiled over at him and then turned to Nikandros. “You were sent to hold my son accountable on his travels, Nikandros of Delpha. Does the Prince of Vere’s story ring of truth?”

Nikandros was stone faced but he nodded curtly.

Laurent’s uncle looked white with barely contained fury. He must have become aware that he only had four guards with him at the moment. Laurent shook with delight. _See how it feels to be helpless?_

Theomedes tapped his mouth with his index finger. “I see. Then…Your Highness,” Laurent’s uncle looked as though he might chip a tooth from the indignation of hearing someone refer to Laurent with royal titles, “in response to your letter, the answer is yes. And the punishment is death. I would let you handle it.”

A bubble of pure joy rose in Laurent’s chest and it must have truly transformed his features, because even his uncle looked amazed at the sight of Laurent and, by his own admission, he had never felt desire for a boy over fifteen. _His undoing_.

“Thank you.” He breathed. The only thing he valued more at this moment than this blunt, trusting king was his equally blunt and trusting son. Then… “ _Pallas_!”

The dagger Auguste had given him clattered to the marble dais as Laurent reached back. His tone could only mean he wanted one thing. He saw his uncle’s eyes go wide as Laurent’s outstretched hand wrapped around the dark, solid wood of the recurved bow. _The bow the Regent’s mercenaries had planned to kill him with_. As he switched the bow to his other hand, it was replaced by the thin straight shaft of an arrow. _The arrow the Regent’s Guard had fired at him with the intent to kill_.

Laurent notched the arrow and smiled at his uncle.

The man made it easier. The moment he realized that Laurent was going to shoot him and the Akielons seemed ready to not lift a finger to help him, the Regent stood up in preparation to escape; Nikandros blocked the Regent’s Guard from assisting him. Laurent took one steadying breath and loosed the arrow. Of all the cheers at his fine shot and the shouts of amazement that echoed through the amphitheater, no sound was sweeter than the howl of pain that came from his uncle as he gripped the bloody arrow shaft protruding from his thigh. Laurent had been aiming for the cock…but he would take this injury.

“The punishment for putting violent hands on my _kallisti_ ,” Damen murmured, his voice thick with hate, “is death. Unless you choose mercy, and I’ll have him flogged.”

“I do not choose mercy.” Laurent answered without hesitation. “I need another arrow.”

Pallas did not move quickly enough as Theomedes stood and looked with thinly veiled disdain at his guest. The Regent seemed to be hissing through his pain, his expression cycling between anger, panic, and desperate charm. Theomedes indulged him for a few moments more before he began to speak.

“Sir, contrary to the beliefs of you and your soldiers, Akielos and the people within are not mindless barbarians. We treat guests with honor. We do not plot against one another. We do not hurt _children_.” Laurent felt the air freeze around him, knew the same would be happening with Nicaise and Aimeric. Everyone was silent with judgment, the largest jury in the world. “However…when someone so heinous enters our midst, rest assured we become barbaric.”

Laurent remembered Damen in a berserker rage, tearing through the trees and cutting through men with ease, all in Laurent’s defense. _Barbaric indeed…_

“On this soil, Uncle,” Laurent said, easing the bow down, “you are at their mercy. Under their laws you can be held accountable.”

Jokaste looked at Laurent’s uncle with a look like she had eaten spoiled meat and Laurent saw it all in her blue eyes. Someone had laid a trap against his uncle and he did not expect the Akielons to say anything about his perversity; and why would he fear? No one in Vere had ever spoken up when he had flaunted his boys.

Damen spoke next. “If one will speak for this man, this blood traitor, this man who hurts children, then maybe we will be merciful.” He was a cat playing with a mouse. Laurent and Damen would not see the Regent of Vere leave the coliseum alive.

It was beautiful.

The silence was deafening as the thousands of Akielons in the stands refused to defend the Regent. Even the Regent’s Guard themselves remained utterly silent, heads bowed so they did not have to look at the dead man. Now the Regent would know how it felt to be surrounded by people who refused to help.

Theomedes did not wish to waste time during this auspicious occasion, so he turned his attention away from the Regent of Vere. “I see. Then…”

The Regent prepared to bolt and the _kyroi_ all stood with hands on their swords, Nikandros preparing to tackle the man if need be. But it was unnecessary.

By god, she was fast.

Smooth for being so heavily pregnant, Jokaste moved in one swift motion: her left hand yanking the short sword from her husband’s scabbard, her right hand clamping firmly onto the collar of the Regent’s shirt. She looked at Laurent for permission, her face filled with the vindication that Laurent knew he and Nicaise and Aimeric would have in her position. Women knew of the pain that men like the Regent caused.

Laurent nodded.

To the benefit of the Akielons, they did not scream or carry on as their beautiful lady swung up the sword with a practiced hand and sliced it through the Regent of Vere’s neck. The crimson blood looked quite lovely splattered on the ombré of her red, pink, and white linen dress.

She turned to him then, her elegant hands also dripping blood as Laurent’s uncle slumped to the floor of the royal box. “My brother, Damianos. Your Highness, Laurent of Vere, the deed has been done.” She patted her belly, ignoring the dead body at her feet, and dropped the bloodied sword onto the astonished and—most likely—aroused lap of her husband. “If it pleases everyone, I would like to continue with the _Kallisti_.”

Then she sat with the sort of fluid grace that did not come from carrying a child and her smile to Laurent was angelic.

He returned it. She would be a delightful sister-in-law.

Speaking of which… Laurent turned back to Damen, smile still on his face. He felt light, like he could float off the marble dais. Would he win the _Kallisti_ if he floated one hundred feet up into the air? Damen looked equally thrilled and Laurent wanted nothing more than to launch himself at Damen.

He would have to settle for Damen taking both of his hands and kissing Laurent’s palms. _Kiss me in front of everyone, you fool. No one can hurt you any longer_.

Only then did the audience raise a cheer that shook the ground beneath their feet.

 


	15. Chapter 15 (The King/The Lover/The Artist)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 15\. 'Snakes are a symbol of eternal love in ancient Rome.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU ALL FOR COMING ON THIS JOURNEY WITH ME!  
> I've been working on 'Snakeskin' forever (back when I was still writing Touch You) and I can't tell you how much I was tempted to post it early. I met so many cool people in the fandom through the Big Bang and if any of you guys are considering it next year, I highly encourage you guys to sign up! One final shoutout to my amazing artist, cannedebonbon, my beta, theinternetbed, and the 3 mods who helped me with the Capri Big Bang. If you want to thank somone for the existence of the event, thank jinlinli, lileura, and Clara!  
> Anyways thanks for all the kudos, comments, and views! You guys keep me inspired!  
> So...for the last chapter, I am predictable in that I love writing epilogues that take place a couple months after the event and this one is no different. I also switch POVs 3 times throughout the chapter so we get a little bit of everyone! God, I never get tired of writing about these two...  
> Also, if you are already sad about the story ending, pop on over to my other ASOIAF/Game of Thrones AU 'Sun and Spear, Peach and Petal' which I am FINALLY updating today!   
> Enjoy!

** Chapter 15 (The King/ The Lover/ The Artist) **

It was light out; Laurent could sense it through his eyelids, through the warmth of his skin but he still wasn’t quite ready to wake up. He rolled over onto his side and felt the silk sheets slide over his hips and torso in a paltry substitute for a lover’s caress. His fingers reached for the large pillow he kept by his side so that he could embrace it and pretend it was Damen’s torso.

He tried to open his arms when he blindly encountered what he was looking for but…frustratingly his wrists would not open. There was resistance.

It was enough that he opened one eye to see what the hell was going on.

It took him a moment to take in his surroundings, as he was hazy these days after sleep.

The curtains were light and fine for the late summer and the intricate glass panes let him know that, sadly, he was waking up in his own quarters—the _king’s_ quarters—in Vere. It looked to have all the promise of a beautiful day, a day of hope. If he rolled over, he would see his enormous bookcases and his desk, covered in official decrees, laws in need of revision and a long, intimate correspondence with the Crown Prince of Akielos. Five pages long and Laurent had still not finished it.

He smiled sleepily to himself, knowing no one else would see him smile.

Just thinking of writing to Damen made him feel foolishly warm. He fully planned to finish it and send it out immediately…as soon as he figured out what was wrong with his hands.

He looked down at them and found his wrists tied loosely together over his nightshirt sleeves in a very familiar length of dark leather. Unable to help the excitement rising in his chest, he smiled again. Only one ‘kidnapper’ would be so thoughtful to tie the bonds over his nightshirt to protect his skin from chafing. He sat up and looked around his enormous bedchamber but did not see anyone within.

“Wherever you are, hiding in wait, you can come out now.” His heart was pounding with anticipation.

There was a sound from outside the glass, a sound like someone heavy landing on the marble balcony…almost as if they had climbed nearly three stories up to Laurent’s bedroom window. He would have time later to be amazed by the feat of strength and courage, but for now he could not wait.

A quick rap on the glass and the enormous, dark figure ducked in, smiling bashfully.

Laurent thought his heart would burst. Damen was standing here in front of him, in the flesh, the aforementioned flesh even darker from the unbearable Akielon summer sun. His chiton was familiar: white with the gold and black border, the golden lion pin, and the red silk cape. It was a gift for Laurent; _he_ was the gift, the two of them having not met since Laurent’s coronation in the spring and Damen having made no mention in his last letter of this visit.

Part of him wanted to tear his clothes from his body immediately and have Damen fuck him so hard he couldn’t walk properly for a month but the other part of him missed their constant conversation and his mouth ached with need to play word games with the man he loved.

“I warn you,” His voice was breathier than he would have liked, “if I cry out the guards will come and arrest any trespasser who has broken into my rooms.”

“I see nothing wrong with the Crown Prince of Akielos visiting the King of Vere on a diplomatic visit.” Damen was smiling wide, his enormous muscles bulging as he shut the door behind him. Laurent was already hot at the idea of being crushed up in that embrace.

“Do diplomatic visits usually involve amateur bondage?” Laurent asked lightly, holding up his wrists in case Damen had forgotten.

“I believe it was _you_ who requested that.” Damen responded.

One hand reached into his chiton and Laurent found himself transfixed by the slight pop of Damen’s pectorals; was this just some beautiful dream? He had been having them frequently as of late. When Damen removed his hand, there was a thick, creamy envelope within. Laurent recognized his own loopy handwriting and saw with gladness that the flap of said envelope drooped backwards as if the letter had been opened and read countless times.

Damen cleared his throat for dramatic effect and Laurent noted that, as he read, his eyes did not skim the page; he had memorized the entire letter.

“Damianos, it has been six weeks, five days, and fifteen hours since you last held me in your arms,” Damen looked up at him with a raised eyebrow and Laurent blushed; he cursed his past self for being so dramatic, “since the days of my crowning; it may as well have been an eternity ago.”

Laurent remembered the day with painful clarity.

In the whirlwind of his coronation, Damen had been with him every step of the way, holding him tight every night when Laurent was exhausted by the revelries and responsibilities and showing Damen around his ancestral home. They had made love in a half-unconscious stupor whenever they could snatch an hour or two alone. Damen had stood by him in the bright gold-white of Arles and applauded with as much joy as any Veretian as a young boy wearing a red carnelian pendant brought the golden crown, heavy with star sapphires, to the steps of the palace and the eldest Veretian councilor placed it on Laurent’s head.

Laurent had not cried.

But surrounded by all of his companions—the Akielons who had rescued him, Vannes and Paschal, Jord and Aimeric, his loyal Veretian guard and Nicaise in sapphires—he did feel a swelling of contentment in his heart.

For that moment, he could forget the pain of what was to come.

Nothing could have prepared him for the morning when Damen and his men had to ride back to Ios to attend to his own country. Laurent had arisen before dawn so that he could spend his final hours memorizing the heat of Damen’s skin, the way his large body felt when it was wrapped around Laurent’s, the way he smelled of sunlight and horse and perfectly ripe oranges and home. Damen smelled like home.

Of all the torture he had endured in his life, Laurent could only remember two instances where he had felt such comparable pain as what he felt when he had to walk with Damen down to the courtyard, knowing that when he returned up those marble steps he would be alone. He and Damen remained touching for the entirety of the Akielon’s preparation to leave, their fingers brushing together as they longed to entwine them.

Knowing Laurent disliked public displays of affection in front of his own court, Damen had resisted the urge to kiss Laurent and simply tilted his head up so that Damen could drink in the sight of Laurent’s face. He was memorizing Laurent’s features, the same way Laurent had done in bed that morning.

“I will come back to you,” that deep, warm voice could quiet any fear of Laurent’s.

“I know you will.” Laurent would not be so selfish to ask Damen to abandon his duties to stay in Vere. Just as he would not abandon his hard-won country…even for the man he loved. He would have to live with the unbearable itch, the empty arms and hollow heart. He had lived through worse.

Still he had wanted to scream out for Damen not to go, his eyes swimming but never brimming over. Damen had stared back at him; neither one of them had broken eye contact, even as the Akielons disappeared into the distance.

It was almost painfully joyful to have Damen standing in his rooms again.

Damen smiled and his cheek dimpled deeply. “ For me it was an eternity the moment you disappeared from my eyes.”

“It has been four months, two days and nine hours since we last met.” Laurent whispered and Damen’s smile got brighter, “Now quit wasting our time and skip to the part I don’t recall writing where I asked you to tie me to my bed. Otherwise…I’ll be forced to call the guards and ask them to remove the intruder.”

Damen smirked at the lie, but scanned down the page, his cheeks flushing already. “I-I wish you were here in my bedchamber now. The light burns low and I comfort myself with memories of our time by the outskirts of a campfire and…our time in the cave. I ache and I hope you have not forgotten your promises to bind me however I like—.”

“Have you forgotten?” Laurent asked; it was a rhetorical question based on the rope and the fire that caught hold in Damen’s eyes. “Or are you like me and have committed every moment of that night to memory?”

“Of course I have.” Damen whispered, the pages slipping through his fingers. “Countless nights I have lost remembering you as you were: wet, sweet, and looking up at me with your hands tied. I promised you I would take you however you liked.”

Laurent felt Damen’s desire ripple over and encase him in warm familiarity and he felt the itch deep in the pit of his hips. “And yet you have not taken me in your arms.”

Laurent could do no more.

His bones creaked in protest but his body rejoiced as Damen leapt forward and crushed him tight in an embrace. Laurent crushed his lips against Damen’s so tight, he thought that they might bruise and Damen answered in kind. They kissed with a hunger only distance could bring about.

“I missed you,” Damen admitted when they broke apart, his voice soft in direct opposition to his embrace. “Every time you wrote me I thought I might die for missing you.”

“You’re very dramatic.” Laurent squeaked out of crushed lungs. “I also don’t believe this is the proper protocol when you intend to hold someone hostage in their rooms. Your men?”

“To hell with them. They’re probably riding through the gates as we speak. I’ve given express instructions that we’re not to be bothered until tomorrow afternoon.” The meaning could not be clearer and Laurent felt his renegade hips rub up against Damen’s.

“How presumptuous of you.”

“You talk too much and kiss too little, Your Highness.” Damen responded.

With one large hand and a single motion, Laurent’s arms were roped around Damen’s neck and his stomach felt like it had dropped out of his body thanks to the exhilaration. Damen stretched out on top of him, heavy and sensual, and Laurent shifted his hips so that his hardening penis would find friction against Damen’s legs and pelvis.

Damen’s lips trailed up his neck and, in tandem, warm hands slid up his flanks, pushing his flimsy white nightshirt up to his chest. Fingers abandoned the shirt and latched on to Laurent’s nipples. Laurent’s chest throbbed and he shuddered.

“Did you come?” Damen asked, pride and cheek in his voice.

“N—maybe a _little_.” Laurent whispered, remembering his secret vow to himself to be honest with Damen. “I don’t know why you are gloating when my lips are abandoned like this.”

“Deepest apologies.” Damen replied. He resumed kissing, much to Laurent’s delight.

Damen’s neck was yanked down with the force of Laurent’s bound arms as slick, thick fingers went to explore his crotch. He had missed this so much, it was like there was a hollow pit in him.

Damen smiled again through his kiss. “Letters cannot explain…how you needed this?”

Laurent was not sure yet if he liked this teasing streak of Damen’s, even though he knew it was done with the gentle sweetness of a lover. But even so…he knew he could pay any teasing back tenfold. Despite the flush of embarrassment to his cheeks and ears, Laurent whispered in Damen’s ear. “My own fingers proved…inadequate.”

He could practically hear the lewd images flash through Damen’s mind and the breath was nearly knocked from Laurent as Damen collapsed against him with a moan.

“Don’t…do that to me.”

Laurent laughed, a rare sound people in his own court were still getting used to hearing.

When Damen looked up his dark eyes were blazing with unabashed want. “Will you demonstrate later? So I won’t leave you wanting during my stay here?”

Laurent smiled down at his beloved’s face. His bound hands stroked the silky, soft curls at the base of Damen’s neck. Surprising his own nature, he looked forward to the idea of this trust exercise with the man he loved: receiving pleasure with his hands bound, very limited in his ability to give—no, he knew Damen and Damen would not allow it. Today, Laurent would come until he was boneless from pleasure.

“Only if you kiss me,” Damen moved forward immediately, but Laurent shrank back, giving his lover pause, “I wasn’t finished. Only if you kiss me in the Veretian style.” Laurent would never admit aloud, but he had an inkling Damen knew that this was one of his favorite sexual acts. If not for the delicious feeling of it, then for the way Damen’s face lit up in excitement over the idea.

“On the back? Or the stomach?” Damen asked without preamble, licking his lips quickly.

“Stomach.” Laurent responded.

And with a feeling like he was flying, one of Damen’s powerful hands had flipped him over onto his stomach. He knew Damen had tugged his pants down a little earlier so the top curve of his ass was being pushed lewdly out of his waistband. Damen helpfully relieved Laurent of his pajama pants and Laurent looped his arms over one of the ornate posts that decorated his headboard. He felt Damen’s white-hot tongue trace a wet line down the curve of his back and then up over the swell of his buttocks.

“Welcome home,” Laurent gasped, his voice shaky from delight. Damen had written in one of his more heated letters that the ‘home’ he missed most was between Laurent’s legs.

“Nothing brings me greater joy than to return.” Oh, he remembered. And Laurent whimpered as the tongue lapped lower…

 

Damen thrust shallowly, unwilling as his first time with Laurent to end the experience too quickly. Well, too quickly for him in any case, as Laurent had already reached orgasm three times and was limp on his fine pillows. The leather ties on his wrists had shifted during their slow love-making and Laurent was only able to moan ‘Yes, yes,” in his lilting, hoarse Akielon.

The sight of Laurent with his hands tied and occasionally biting the neck of his nightshirt to keep from sobbing in pleasure, had him close a few times, but he held himself back. He savored the experience, as Laurent had been right: in the four months they had been apart, his own hand had been inadequate in comparison to this.

“Damen… _please_!” Laurent begged and Damen remembered his promise to accommodate Laurent in their bedplay. It also helped that Laurent’s shirt had slipped low on his shoulder, showing that he was flushed even there.

He thrust his hips with more intent and yanked his cock out—elliciting a gasp from Laurent—so that he could finish on the tiny dimples on the small of Laurent’s back.

Damen groaned with delight before he collapsed on top of his lover, kissing a feverish ear and cheek, uncaring that his body slid against Laurent’s slick back. “Do you still keep a knife under your pillow? Pillows?” He amended on seeing that Laurent was draped across at least four swansdown pillows.

Laurent ignored him and indignantly clutched his hands close to his chest.

“Are you going to waste this perfectly good leather strap?”

“I tied a rather complicated knot.” Damen admitted, “The length is loose but…it will be easier to just slice it off.”

“What if we want to use it again?” Laurent argued, “What if you want to tie me up? Or I’ll tie you. What if you want to…” His voice got quiet and shy, “ _spank_ me with it?”

Damen squeezed his pretty, blushing body to showcase his own delight at the idea and also to try and keep his cock from rising again. “The people of Vere should count themselves lucky,” he said, nuzzling his face into Laurent’s hair, “to have a king that is blessed with such excellent ideas.”

“You’ll untie me then.” Laurent stated with absolute certainty and Damen reached over wordlessly to deal with the knot. He had Laurent free in a moment and Laurent sat up quickly.

While he shed his nightshirt like a useless outer skin, Damen reached over the foot of the bed to grasp at the pack he had left on the floor when he had first sneaked into Laurent’s rooms. He’d have a talk with Jord later over the efficiency of the guards assigned to patrol the gardens outside of Laurent’s bedroom window. If a man of his size could slip in unnoticed then some changes needed to be made.

When he lay back down, lazier than he usually allowed himself to be, Damen allowed Laurent to get a good look at the length of his naked body as he rummaged through the leather satchel in search of the necessary papers. Laurent took in Damen’s lower half especially with a wide-eyed hunger.

“Come here, Your Majesty,” Damen offered, patting his firm torso in an indication to lie down.

Laurent needed no further invitation and flopped his lean body down with a laugh. “I swear, I’ll never get used to hearing people call me that.” He admitted. “Least of all you.” Laurent made a tiny coo of pleasure as Damen scratched the soft, golden hair behind his ear; he was growing it out again and Damen could not wait to see it when it was long to his chest.

“What would you prefer I call you?” Damen asked, “Sweetheart? Lover? Milkmaid?”

Laurent snorted; from him, even it sounded pretty. “I’m afraid none of those suit my tastes. Though…I will admit, I will miss hearing you call me ‘my _kallisti’_ in that anguished tone of yours whenever I recklessly endangered my life.”

“I can call you that forever.” Damen insisted, “For me, the title belongs to you and none other for all my life, my _kallisti_.” Laurent grinned up at him. Damen’s searching fingers found what he was looking for and he fished out a long bundle of scrolls stamped with various seals.

“What are those?”

“Letters for you.” Damen said. “First, are some proposed trade agreements from my father and the _kyroi_ —very boring I assure you; I was there when they were drafted. I think they are more than fair to you, as the _kyroi_ are all still half in love with you. We can read them tomorrow when you will have to sit all afternoon.” Laurent looked like he would protest but Damen silenced that by tossing the red stamped papers over his shoulder without a care. “These ones are from Jokaste. She laments your absence as she said the court is devoid of common sense without you,” Laurent nodded softly as if he were inclined to agree, “On that note she invites you several times to come visit my baby nephew and to bring the ‘snappy blue-eyed brat’ with you; I can only assume this is in regards to Nicaise. She also says you should be pleased to know that gold patterns have become all the rage in Akielon chitons thanks to you—.”

“Are you going to let me read it or do you intend to summarize the whole thing?” Laurent asked, grasping for the parchment, but Damen’s arms were longer.

“I summarize now so you won’t be burning with curiosity when I lick you again.” Damen smiled victorious as Laurent blushed and Jokaste’s letters joined the others on the floor. “Next is Charls; he’s still in Ios to deal with the sudden demand for his wares—he wants to thank you personally when he returns for all the advertisement you’ve given him.”

“You’re unbelievable.” Laurent groaned, watching more paper sail through the air.

“Ah! This is the one I wanted!” Damen exclaimed, coming to a large, but homely scroll that was only tied with a bit of twine and drizzled with white wax to keep it in place. “This is a gift for you, my _kallisti_. Since Jokaste gave you the one I had intended to give…”

Laurent perched up on his elbows with interest as Damen handed him the scroll. “You’ve given me yourself. What gift is greater to me than my kingdom and…your love?”

“Read it quickly.” Damen insisted. “Before I change my mind and toss it to the side and show you the full extent of my love.”

Laurent smiled and reached under his pillow to withdraw Auguste’s dagger so that he could cut the twine on the scroll. Damen held his breath as he saw Laurent’s eyes dart across the page, taking in the large amount of information.

When he looked up, his smile was one of near disbelief and childish delight. “You didn’t.”

“I did. I wanted to give it to you personally; this was a good enough excuse as any to come visit you. Is it as good as a kingdom? Or am I going to constantly lose to Jokaste every year when we give you gifts on your birthday?”

“It’s…”

Damen knew what Laurent saw as he looked down, as he too had memorized the delicate drawing: a tiny castle drawn in miniature, with each floor and carving on the outer walls placed on the parchment in black ink. A castle with the elegant details of Vere but the wide open rooms and villas of Akielos.

Damen had remembered his and Laurent’s desire to have a joint capital in Delpha and the past four months of unbearable loneliness for him only encouraged him to push his plans forward at breakneck pace. He wanted a palace where he and Laurent could walk amongst their countrymen together.

“Nikandros said this was as far north as he would allow. Otherwise we might well freeze to death. Regardless, construction begins next year. And I think you’ll find a very generous clause in our trade agreement that, as a sign of goodwill, the King of Vere and the Crown Prince of Akielos need only spend a minimum of four months of the year together in Delpha. Though…I have a mind to so thoroughly entertain you that you decide to just move the capital further south and keep Arles as a summer palace.”

Laurent grinned wide at him. “I look forward to you trying. After all,” He tossed the paper to the side, “we only have time.”

“You like it?” Damen asked as Laurent tossed the papers off the edge of the bed. It was a rhetorical question as Laurent was practically glowing with delight at the idea.

“Of course I like it.” Laurent insisted. “I never want to leave your side. I count down the days until there are four walls and we can write trade agreements naked inside while they build up the palace around us.”

Laurent slithered up Damen’s chest, under the circle of his arms. His eyes were half closed in clear indication that he wanted a kiss and Damen was more than willing to indulge him. It seemed almost a waste to close his eyes at such a beautiful sight…

The door to Laurent’s chambers burst open and, out of habit, Damen rolled so that his body was half-shielding Laurent’s.

“Lau—Your Majesty!” A familiar voice, “The Akielons have arrived!”

Jord skidded to a halt when he saw the full length of of Damen’s muscular, dark back and Laurent’s head popped up behind that formidable shield. He smiled wickedly, a serpent with telltale feathers sticking out of its’ clever mouth. Jord’s face flushed a very deep red.

“No, please go on,” Laurent insisted. “I’d had no idea they’d arrived. Please have them come in.” Then to Damen: “Who are you and what are you doing in my bed?”

“I-I’ll leave you—please e-excuse me!” Jord stammered, looking like a tomato in a silk vest. The door closed behind him and Laurent burst into helpless peals of laughter as he draped himself across the curve of Damen’s waist.

“You’re so cruel.” Damen chastised him, sure that his face was as scarlet as Jord’s had been. “And you should not have let him see you naked.”

“Perhaps _you_ should just get bigger.” Laurent replied, “If such a thing is even possible.”

“You had no complaints earlier.” Damen’s annoyance and embarrassment evaporated in the light of Laurent’s good humor.

“Speaking of earlier,” Laurent curled his hair behind his ear and he took on a coy look Damen was getting used to seeing, “I had forgotten what we were doing before we were so rudely interrupted.”

“I believe I was about to kiss you which I would only hope leads to four months worth of lovemaking.”

Laurent pulled Damen down into the sheets. “My Damianos.”

“My _kallisti_.”

 

_It was baking hot this deep into the summer of Akielos._

_Most people tried to stay out of the streets when it was midday, and if work was to be done, it was best done indoors._

_Under the coliseum of Ios it was blissfully cool in comparison to the outside air. Especially in the long halls that connected the preparation chambers—originally used for gladiators—to the marble arena. Nowadays they were used for any speakers, actors, or person who was expected to have a large group of people coming to watch or listen them. The most recent event on an enormous scale had been the_ Kallisti _._

_Now the finest artist in the kingdom—who counted himself lucky to have been in the audience to see such an outstanding display—had been commissioned to add his own contribution to the long halls._

_Kneeling down on the marble floors now with several torches illuminating his near-finished painting, he set down his delicate brushes and reviewed his work._

_It stretched across a long chunk of the hallway, as the overeager artist felt the need to capture the full transition, though…in his opinion no rendition could fully capture the beauty and glory he had seen that day. Still, he was pleased with his work and felt it would stand out over the test of time—long after he was gone in any case. The winner. The most beautiful. The_ Kallisti _._

_Here, at the beginning, the mysterious figure in black cloth lined with gold leaf helped onto the marble dais by an Akielon man crowned in laurels. Next was his body, painted pearly and nearly bare, with arms open in defiance to the crowd as if to say ‘look at me, drink me in’; the artist had done exactly that and for weeks after could paint nothing else but that fine form._

_Then came the bath and the cutting of the hair. Scandalous, he remembered, but memorable, awe-inspiring. The gold hair too was done in gold leaf so it shimmered under the torchlight and the next, the last, was the most eye-catching._

_Blood of the usurper spilled red onto the black background. That pale and gold young man, the King Laurent of Vere, stood on the white marble dais in a chiton of gold and white snakeskin, crowned in a laurel of golden stars. The artist had drawn him smiling, as he could not get that tender smile out of his mind. Smiling in return was the artist’s own Crown Prince, Damianos, the picture and the beauty of the scene incomplete without him in it. They would forever be like that in his own memory and in the memory of Akielos: eyes locked in love and victory._

_A few more strokes of his brush and he had finished the scene. A deep sigh of satisfaction and a twinge of regret as he packed up his supplies. He did not think he would return to paint another winner in these dark, hallowed halls._

_In his mind, in the minds of so many others, there would be no win as great as what he had witnessed that day. A victory for the pair as much as the individual, two countries united in the course of one journey. Two great lovers united…_

_Laurent of Vere and Damianos of Akielos. They had won._


End file.
